John Tyree Redux
by Babylon Candle
Summary: In October 2006 John Tyree was rotated back to Baghdad, Iraq. Fighting was tough. In December 2006 John Tyree was involved in a fire-fight that changed him. This is his story from that point forward.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

My name is John Tyree and I was born in 1977 at Wilmington, North Carolina. I graduated from Wilmington high school in 1995 and then joined the army in late 1997 for four years. My unit was part of the First Infantry Division, I upped in November 2001 in and reupped in November 2003. My father died in August 2006. I flew back from Germany to attend his funeral and take care of probating the will through his lawyer, William Benjamin. I returned to Germany and then rotated back to Baghdad, Iraq in October 2006. At that time I was a sergeant in charge of a squad of men, and by all accounts good at what I did.

In December 2006 I was involved in the fire fight that changed everything. What I have been told, and you can see it on YouTube, there were two of us moving round a corner to check out the surrounding area when we were both shot. The Taliban were trying to push their videos to a new level and show how they could execute two soldiers at once. The video, and I have watched it a lot, shows us approaching the corner, bending low, rounding the corner and straightening up, then we drop like sacks of potatoes. They were tracking us. We both fell into a crater and that was that. The video then shows two heavily scarfed olive colored men holding up their rifles yelling, "Death to Americans!" Then comes the voice claiming they will be going after three next time. That is what the records say and that is all I know.

My memory starts from that point forward.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Records say the fire fight was tough and it took a while before the army could secure the area and retrieve the bodies. If you look real close at the YouTube video, you can see my helmet rotating a fraction before I fell. That movement is, what I have been told, saved my life. I was taken back to the medical evacuation center and was on the next flight out to Germany. The bullet rattled around my helmet, taking out bone fragments, and leaving through my shoulder. The fall into the crater broke my nose and cheek bone and scratched up the right side of my face pretty badly. Brain swelling, loss of blood and time in the crater meant I was unconscious until after surgery in Germany. That is when it all started.

The first words I remember were, "Soldier, how are you feeling?" The nurse was holding my wrist taking my pulse and I had a thermometer stuck in my mouth.

"Like shit." Was my honest reply once the thermometer was pulled out. I hurt all over and my head was throbbing badly. I had tubes in me and bandages all over the place. Maybe a slight exaggeration now, but not then.

She smiled and said, "You'll do fine." She added, "I'll let the doctor know you have come round." She added, "Call button is by your side if you need anything."

I rested my head back on the pillow, relaxed and started to drift off.

Dreams are odd things. Some say they are windows into your sole, while others say you can interpret them into something meaningful. All I know is, if I eat too much dark chocolate I get really good dreams. What I mean to say is, I don't believe in all that interpretation crap, but I have come to know the meaning of seeing the past in full 3-D Technicolor. Flashbacks are everything they are cranked up to be. The smell, color, fear, screams and adrenaline rush are all there: and a whole lot more. That is one reason why I sleep on the floor: it's safer there… but all that is in the future.

The doctor gently touched my arm, he was an old man, he came back to do his bit for us army boys. He was standing there, looking at the chart, with a stethoscope around his neck. Typical Dr. Kildair style. He didn't get very far with me, all he said was, "John, how are you doing?"

I mumbled back, "Who's John?" Even though my mind was still in a fog from the anesthesia I knew my name was not John.

"You are John," was the soft reply.

"No, who's John?" was my reply. This time there was a bit of an edge to my voice.

"Your name is John Tyree…"

"No it's not, who's John?" I was starting to think a little clearer and starting to get worried. The name John was not registering, so I started to think about my name, and there was no name… My eyes zoomed wide open. I stared at the doctor as I started to climb out of the bed backwards trying to get through the wall. In that split second total panic gripped me. What was my name?

The doctor put his hand on my shoulder to stop me getting out of the bed and gently said, "It's okay, John, don't worry, we're here to get you better…"

I cut him off, I was worried, really worried. "John? Who the hell is John!" All I felt was total fear and abject panic and wanted to get far, far away from whatever it was that was doing this to me. The doctor instantly yelled for medics and they came tumbling into the room to settle me down. I had other plans. It took eight of them to get me under control. I was told later that several were badly banged up.

The next time I came to I was in a straight jacket and strapped to the bed. No room to maneuver this time. When the army means business, they deliver.

This time my brain went straight into high gear along with my heart rate and blood pressure. The monitor started beeping loudly and the nurse came quickly. Looking at the numbers she said, "You have to settle down… relax… come on soldier, settle or I will have to knock you out. You have to heal properly." She placed her hand on my chest as if to take some of the pain out. It helped for a little, but it all started again as I searched for a name… any name… but preferably, my name.

I was told I was put into a drug induced coma to let the swelling of my head go down and time to heal. Obviously I was not going to do that on my own, so the army chose for me.

The next time I started to come to, I was really groggy and took a while of drifting in and out of sleep to fully recover from the drugs. When I had the strength to open one eye, the old doctor was sitting by the bed waiting for me. With a smile he said, "Soldier, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The army's way is always to find the easy way and I hope you agree."

I slurred, "Yes Sir."

"You have gone through a lot and it is our job to help you in any way we can. But we have to start somewhere and sometime."

Again I slurred, "Yes Sir."

"I am guessing you have suffered some memory loss and worried about it. It is our job to help you. If you panic, we are going to keep you strapped up. If you work with us, you will be unstrapped. Your choice. I shall let you think about it and see you in the morning."

I tried to say, "Yes Sir." But it didn't happen. I was back asleep.

The army is all about routine. It has to be, and the hospital was no exception. is wake up time. Time to face the day. The first day of my new life started that way. I felt lucid and cognizant of my surroundings, but I had to work hard to suppress the fear that was welling up deep inside. My memory was sitting on empty.

Who we are, our personality, is a summation of our experiences, thoughts, actions and relationships. Take that away, what are we then? An empty shell? With no memory of the past how do we fit in to society that has a collective memory that we are not a part of? How do we relate to our parents, best friend, or the one we love? Do we look backwards while going forward, or are we going forward with the summation of our past? How valuable is the past, and how reliable is the past in the performance of future challenges that life will throw at you. How much do we use the past in our decisions of each day? Psychological questions that I am still chewing over and have no real answer. All I know is without a past the future looks bleak.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

It was before breakfast that the doctor came sweeping in with four able-bodied army types. They had warmed up and were ready for action. I knew that by a quick study of their stance and appearance. How I knew that, I don't really know. I just knew the facts. "Good morning John. Are we ready to face the future?"

"Yes Sir." Was my stock reply.

"As you can see I have the means available to quickly address any inconveniences that may arise." He said nodding to the able men in green.

"No problems from me, Sir."

"Good. Then let's cut out the crap and get down to business. I am going to tell you what happened and when we get to the bit you first start to remember, you stop me."

This time it was a shaky, "Yes Sir."

"How many miles is it to Baghdad?" was the odd question…but I knew the reply.

"Three score miles and ten – Sir. But it's not Baghdad, its Babylon, Sir. We changed it, Sir."

"Correct in every way soldier," was the snap reply, and then he added, "how did you know that?

I started to stumble. I didn't know how I knew the distance, just that I did know. I instinctively knew the right answer.

"So you see," the good doctor said, "That there are different types of memories. Someone told you the answer and you filed it away in a part of your memory. From that storage bin you instantly pulled out the right answer and told it to me. That information was stored in a certain part of your brain that has not been affected. We will find more tit-bits like that every day." He smiled and added, "See, hope and the future are already smiling on you."

"Damn right," I thought. There really was hope out there.

"Right, let's go back a few days…" and so the real work started. It wasn't rocket science to quickly hone in on the fire fight as the point of remembering and not remembering. It was the physical and mental cross road of my life. He explained the bullet across the head had created pressure on the brain, which along with the fall and time in the hole wasn't good. "As far as we can tell, no structural damage, no bone fragments in the brain tissue, and no other trauma to the neck or head. Basically it was bullet, bang, fall, bang, and then to Germany for treatment."

"Easy for you to say, Sir." was my cool comment.

"Head injuries come in all shapes and sizes. To be perfectly honest, yours is one of the lucky ones. You will walk out of here on your own two feet and be able to function in society just fine. You will adapt to your new situation and eventually no one will know what had happened, unless you want them to. See that soldier over there," the doctor said pointing down the ward, I nodded, "Quadriplegic. He may not have lost his memory, but he will never walk again. On a scale of one to ten, you are sitting pretty near the top. If I hear you are feeling sorry for yourself, I'll beat the crap out of you! Get is soldier?"

"Yes, Sir. No beatings Sir."

"Good," Was his slow reply. "Now lets move on to the minor stuff." Then the doctor started to discuss my face. He wanted to prepare me for the new look. He told me the nose and cheek bone had been fixed, but was a hair off symmetry. The scars were not that bad. The right side of my face had been roughed up with several scars on the cheek that almost looked like a 'Y'. Then there was the big scar that ran through the eyebrow going up to the hair line. "Shaving is going to be fun," was all I could think of. The major scar was the long groove that ran across the top of my skull. That was where the bullet went removing bone and tissue. It did not break the skull, just dipped into the bone. Of all the scars it was this one the doctor dwelt on the most. The plan was not to operate and put in a plate at this time, but wait and see how the body took care of it.

"The nurses are calling you O.G. after the Phantom of the Opera," said the doctor, "Don't worry, I have heard and seen worse… You will do just fine. Actually, I think you could give the Phantom a run for his money," chuckled the doctor. Then he continued, "We don't have the plastic surgery skills here on base to fix you up properly, back in say San Antonio we do, but not here. The consensus amongst us doctors is to get your face fixed, and we will work with you on doing that."

"How bad is bad?" was my question.

"Just depends." The doctor pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and proceeded to sketch out my face showing the scar lines.

"The scars would show more in the summer as you have an olive shaded skin tone. As you go darker, the white lines would stand out a little more. Plastic surgery would eliminate the main scars… but it is your face in the end. And finally, can we un-strap you and are you going to be a good little soldier and do your job and get better?"

"Yes Sir," was the unequivocal reply.

The doctor gestured to the men in green and they started to undress me out of the straight jacket. It was past breakfast time and I was starving.

"Are you ready to look at your face?"

The facial bandages had been removed while I was out and the healing process was far along. The doctor opened a drawer and pulled out a mirror. "soldier, it's either now or later." I reached for the mirror and tilted it to my face. I did not recognize the person in the mirror.

"Before I go," the doctor was standing by the door, "You have been assigned to Dr. Minnie McGonagall. She is a psychologist from our British friends. American psychologists are in short supply, I think they are moving to other areas of the war on terror. Listen to her, she's good."

I lifter my eyes from the mirror and said, "Yes Sir." Once the doctor left the room I started the long process of getting to know the face in the mirror. I poked and prodded; I turned this way and that; I stretched and grimaced; I practiced smiling and frowning; it was all new to me. The only question on my mind was who is this person?

Dr. McGonagall walked into my life that afternoon. She was no more than 5'-4" tall in shoes, short red hair, fair skin with freckles, and a soft Scottish accent. She had a fat file under her arm: My file. She pulled up the swivel chair and adjusted the height to her small frame and then, after sitting down, introduced herself. "My name is Dr. McGonagall, and I am here to help you. I do not cure people, magically wave a wand and put everything right or change into a cat…" The puzzled look on my face clearly indicated the joke was lost on me. "Harry Potter?" was her question, "The film?" I shrugged my shoulders. She regrouped with, "Okay, I guess you are not a film or book person. I think we are going to have fun putting into your little gray cells the good stuff before you get out of here and corruption sets in. Anyway… As I said my name is Dr. Minnie McGonagall. You either call me Dr. McGonagall or Mame. Don't you dare calling me 'hen' or you will be seeing stars pretty quickly."

"Damn, is this one feisty person," Was all I could think of. I quickly said, "Yes Mame, I think I have the ground rules."

"Good. I do not want to start with any misconceptions. I have been assigned to you to help you understand the situation and see what we can find out about what is blocking your memory cells. If there is nothing physically wrong, and we don't feel that there is, we next look at the mental trauma of the incident. Are you with me soldier?"

"Yes Mame."

"Obviously we are not going to go poking and prodding about inside your head, so I have several activities that I want you to do to stimulate the little gray cells. They are simple, but you must do them every day. First, comb your hair using your left hand. Brush your teeth with your left hand, study this old Magic Eye book, and finally I want you to find the connection between my name and MI6?"

After a pregnant pause, I said, "Yes Mame." Not really sure what I was signing up to do. Lets go through them again. Hair: which hand soldier?

"Left Mame."

"Teeth?"

"Left Mame."

"Here," She said handing me a 1997 calendar with 52 Magic Eye pictures. I took the book and flipped it open. "What do you see in the picture, soldier?

"Coffee beans, Mame."

"That is correct and not correct. Do you know how to work a Magic Eye Book, Soldier?"

"No Mame."

"Well, I'd better tell you then. Hold the book close to your face and then slowly pull it away. As you do so a picture will come to you."

I tried it and nothing happened. "Sorry, Mame, all I am seeing is beans."

"That's okay, you will get it in a while. Last one."

"Match you with MI6, Mame."

"That is correct, Soldier. It is a test I give all my patients so they have something to do in their spare time. There is a real connection that can not be found on the internet. I call it the 'McGonagall Challenge' and no one has gotten it yet. And one last thing. See here this ring, it means I am married to a big bruit of a husband that wants me back in one piece. Don't you dare forget it or else!"

"Anything else I should know?" I said coolly.

"No, that's all." Was her calm reply. With that she flipped open my file and started to read. "Your file is very interesting and shows you have been very fortunate, until now. Statistically speaking, you have beaten the odds…" Her voice trailed off as she poked about in my files. She picked up several minutes later with, "No parents or wife I see." I sat bolt upright, looking straight ahead. Seeing my reaction she said, "I see we have some ground to cover." With that she settled down and started to review my files with me. We started with my army application form which had my basic family information. We worked through the early stuff, stopping when we had gotten through to the end of basic training. Fortunately it had a cross reference to the men I graduated with. I thought I would need that list one day.

After Dr. McGonagall left I went for a wander about the ward. Dressed in the usual hospital gown, it felt good to be on my feet. No one bothered with me and I bothered no one: I just wanted to get up, get better and get out of there.

That night I tried to clean my teeth with my left hand. It felt weird. It was physically awkward and I could feel things moving about inside my head. It was a strange sensation. In the morning I showered carefully and tried using my left hand to comb my hair and clean my teeth. Again the strange sensation came over me. I asked Dr. McGonagall about it and she explained it was the brain starting to form new internal links based on the external stimuli of using my left hand to do something usually done by the right hand. "Cool," I thought, but I didn't have a clue what she meant by new internal links.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

It was three days later that I succeeded with the Magic Eye book. Inside the picture of the coffee beans was a cup with steam coming out of it. It was amazing how it worked: you had to look through the picture to see the hidden picture inside the picture. The downside being it hurt if I looked at too many pictures. I mean it hurt my head inside. When the throbbing started, I closed the book and shut my eyes. These mental gymnastics were a new experience for me.

The days worked into weeks and I was transferred out of the hospital and back to the base I was stationed at before my last deployment to Iraq. Rather than being posted to the usual barracks, I was assigned a single room. I didn't like it. No one to talk to or associate with. I knew the army was separating me from the men going into battle. I could agree and disagree with what they were doing, but I am a soldier and obey orders.

I fell into a good routing of getting up in the morning, after breakfast having one hour with Dr. McGonagall, time for army lectures and basic group training, then lunch and another hour with Dr. McGonagall. Then I went to the gym to work out. I was assigned a personal trainer to make sure I worked the right muscles in the right way and not do anything stupid to my head.

It was about the eight weeks after my accident that I started to get the flashbacks. I think it was about the same time I had finally gotten all the drugs out of my system as I was starting to feel good, working out and getting back into things. The nightmares were bad, really bad because I had no memory to compare against. They were dreams of epic proportion and magnitude and so, so real. I started to wake up in the middle of the night fighting the wind and screaming. I was seeing fire fights for the first time… dead and decapitated people… kids getting blown away… and the noise of screaming people. So real, so tangible, so terrible. Along with the sights and sounds came the smell. The smell of death and decay, the smell of puke and the smell of fear. Your bet, flashbacks are everything they are cranked up to be. I would sit on the bed shaking so badly I held on to the frame for support. Slowly it would subside and I would clean up the puke off the floor, take a shower and lie back down on the bed trying to forget but never succeeding. I kept thinking to myself if these were real or make-believe dreams. But if they were make-believe dreams, why were they so real and keep coming back night after night.

Dr. McGonagall wanted to try drugs to see if they helped the nightmares, but I was against it. Drugs are really scary. In some ways the drugs given me in the hospital were worse then the flashbacks and bad dreams I was having.

It was at this time found sleeping on the floor gave me a better night's sleep. Something about being close to Mother Earth and not falling out of bed… Whatever the reason, I made my bed on the floor and the nightmares did not seem so severe.

Despite short nights, I was getting back into the swing of life. The army lectures I attended were interesting and I grasped the points easily, almost instinctively. It was all there, locked in my head, popping out with a little prodding. I was making progress but I knew my days as an active front line soldier were at an end when I was assigned to view a squad. Viewing did not have a very military sound to it, so I was loose with the activities.

Since I had time on my hands I gravitated over to the firing range. I found I was a pretty good marksman in all three positions. There was satisfaction in finding something I was good at as an army grunt. I started to ask about sniper qualifications. I mean to say, if I can't see action, at least I could work in another area of the fight. The real reason was, I didn't want to loose the security of the army.

My other free time was spent trying to find out who John Tyree was. I don't want to say it was a purely academic study, but there were elements of detachment. I was interested, but it did not feel personal to me. Like if you poke yourself, you see the action and feel the pain. Here I could see the action, but there was no pain.

I was allowed to re-read my files: my abridged files. It had been edited in certain areas. The army is careful like that. The files covered so many interesting facts that I started to play games with myself to see how much I could remember of what I had read. Every now and again I would read something and 'things' would start to stir inside. It is hard to explain. I tried talking to Dr. McGonagall about it, but failed. She then explained it to me. She said that each memory had one or more 'triggers'. These are sights or sounds or whatever that point to a specific memory and want to bring it from the background of our minds to the forefront, so we could relive the event again. Somehow, my connections between the 'triggers' and the memory were not working.

Many sessions with Dr. McGonagall were spent on discussing the past, present and future. To be exact, my past, present and future. As she explained it, at the moment my known past was contained in files, folders and with other people out there. The present is where I was living and creating fresh memories. The future is mine to make. "You have two choices," Dr. McGonagall said, "to search out your past and see if that brings back your memories. Or close that door and start afresh." Despite making good progress, I was still scared inside. I didn't know what I wanted. I did not know if I had the nerve to dig up the past or take the easy way out and start afresh.

My personal kit was shipped from Iraq to me in Germany. There was not much. Clothes, washing kit, letters, no photos and no wallet. I thought, "The old John Tyree believed in traveling light." Most of the letters were from my father, a few from his lawyer William Benjamin, and no one else. I was wondering why? Didn't I have any other family? What about friends? What about girls? Surely I had a girl…

Reading through my father's old letters, and there were quite a few, they came across as stilted and sort of limited. I must have read them at least ten times to try and get a flavor of the man. The letters were a real and a solid connection with the past, despite my father being dead. Amongst his letters was an envelope containing a Buffalo head nickel accompanied by a photo of a young John Tyree with a younger version of, I assumed, my father. On the back of the photo was the word, Atlanta. I stared at the photo as that was all I had of my past that I could actually see. I had no memory of the coin or photo, but I knew they were important to John Tyree as he had kept them, so I kept them.

The letters from the lawyer were confirmation of instructions and copies of items signed. Now I had the name of William Benjamin, lawyer, along with his phone number and e-mail address. "Cool," was how I thought of the new discovery.

The internet is an absolute dream. I hit it hard. Searching, chasing, trying to find thing and looking at anything that might help. Through the internet I was slowly becoming familiar with Wilmington, North Carolina. I could see the hospital where I was born. All the schools I attended and my father's house. I found the realtor who bought the house and he e-mailed me photos of the emptied home and the selling flyer. I had strong stirrings and knew what to expect as I clicked open the photos. I knew what was around the corners even though the photo didn't go there. I knew the plants and holes in the yard. I knew this place! The old memories were moving and I could feel them walking about inside. It was exciting, thrilling, and scary all at the same time. I never thought the word 'home' would mean so much.

I sent a long e-mail to the lawyer William Benjamin explaining the situation. I didn't want to do that but Dr. McGonagall insisted I be open and honest and allow others to help. I wanted to hide behind the distance between Germany and Wilmington. Of course, she was right. The first e-mail back from William Benjamin set out the legal principles of client-lawyer relationship and the fact that the law has no presidents addressing the same person suffering a memory lapse. Since there was no loss of mental capacity at the time of the incident, it was, in William Benjamin's humble opinion, perfectly legal for him to discuss the probate of my father's estate with me. I punched the air in jubilation. I was making progress! Next I asked him if he could scan in all the documents he had of father's estate and send them to me. The initial reply was sure, but it would be a few days. Having time on my hands, that was not a problem.

Once I settled in, I started to talk to long term people at the base to see if anyone remembered me. The place was so transient that I hit dead ends all over the place. While asking about, several soldiers told me it was common for men to shred odds and ends before deployment to Iraq. People cleaning up their past… just in case. It sort of made sense. I hoped John Tyree did not have a messy past that needed to be shredded… and I continued to wonder about my wallet. I know it is a guy thing, but every guy has a wallet but me.

As Dr. McGonagall pointed out, one day I will have to go back to Wilmington, North Carolina. That was where I was born and, hopefully, old friends were still living, and old places that once were familiar to me. The thought of Wilmington gave me the chills. The unknown with all its connotations really did frighten me. Despite my fears, I knew she was right.

I had been back at the base about a couple of weeks when Peter the mechanic asked me a question, "O.G., are you ever going to get back on your Harley? Or do you want to sell it?" People were calling me O.G. after Phantom of the Opera. I have seen the movie many times and love it: except in the end. The Phantom doesn't get the girl!

"Harley?" I asked, "What Harley?"

"The one over in the corner." With that Peter pointed to the far corner of his shop and a tarp over the shape of a motorcycle. I jumped up and walked over. Everyone else followed. I whipped back the tarp to see a shiny solidly build Harley Davidson motorcycle. Instinctively I knew it was mine and how to ride it. Without a second though I swung my leg over and settled into the seat. Damn, it felt good! I turned the key and the Harley roared into life. The noise of the grumble 'V' was soft music to my ears. I kicked it into gear, eased out of the shop, and was off around the base. All day long I went here and there on the Harley, nothing could get me off except meal time. Reluctantly I parked it back in the corner, turned the key off and got ready to toss the tarp over it. Before I did, I opened the two saddle bags and hunted about. Stale food, marked up maps, rags, tools, a cell phone, top-up cards, and a wallet. Not just any wallet, it was my wallet. I was excited as I flipped it open to see my driving license, money, several old photos of me and my surf board, one business card that said, Fritz Esser, Pig Farmer and a well worn piece of paper that had a list of dates starting back on June 16, 2000 and going through each month until December 2010. All the dates up to the time of my accident had a small dot against them.

I thought I had hit the jackpot. Finally, here was something tangible; something sold from my past. Something I could get my teeth into and chew on. I started off with the easy stuff.

The driver's license was a typical North Carolina issue and looks like I had several years before renewal. Flipping it over I noticed I had agreed to be an organ donor and I had DNR checked. A cold tingle ran up and down my spine. At least the old John Tyree was willing to do his bit for someone else. I was not sure if I was. The crappy photograph was the last one taken of the old John Tyree with an unscarred face. I studied it long and hard. This is what I looked like, this was the old me: there was absolutely no connection between me and the face in the driver's license.

Then I slipped out the three photos of me at the beach with a long surf board. They were not close-up shots, but they were of me. "Cool," I thought, "I like to surf. I must give it a try one day." The body was a little thinner, fewer tattoos, longer hair, and a deep sun tan. "Beach bum," I muttered to the photos as I flipped through them time after time. In one of the photos I could see a pier in the distance. I knew that pier and I knew I had fond memories of it. What those memories were, I didn't know.

And finally I came to the business card. There was a name, profession and a telephone number. I stood there actually shaking. My whole body was starting to go into a nervous spasm. I was staring at the first real confrontation with my past. Then I shook it out of me. The thought of a pig farmer being in my past was too far fetched to be real. Curiosity got the better of me so I sat down on an oil drum and pulled out the maps to see where this pig farmer lived. My German was non-existent so a road trip was needed.

The calendar dates were a puzzle, I had no clue what they could mean, but I was willing to give the internet a crack at it.

While waking back to the barracks I tried turning on the cell phone. It was dead. I soon found the charger was missing, so I bought a new one at the PX. The majority of calls were to the pig farmer. For some reason my past lay there.

At my next meeting with Dr. McGonagall I placed the wallet down on the table and started to go through the items. The driver's license and business card did not bother her, but the list of dates did. I knew they bothered her by the way she moved and flitted her hands about. I had gotten to know Dr. McGonagall pretty well through our sessions, and I knew she was bothered. She dismissed the dates as not important and concentrated on the business card. We chatted away for quite a while and it was getting close to the end of our session when she asked me a rather pointed question, "Do you really want to know the old John Tyree?" There was a pause. "What I am saying is, what you are now may not be the same as what you used to be. The old you might not match the new you. Can you face it?"

"Do I have a choice?" I replied slowly. "Then again I'm not sure I want to live a life half missing. It might be good or bad… just look at these tattoos," I added rolling up my sleeve, "Why did I get these? There's a story and it's my story. I hope I am man enough to take it. If not, I shall visit you in Scotland, take your pills and be happy."

With reticence in her voice Dr. McGonagall said, "Oh, go. Go and see what the past holds for you."

"Really?"

Softly she added, "Go and see. If you miss this opportunity, who knows what you have missed and then you will regret it the rest of your life.

"Cool," Was all I could mutter. "But what if…"

"No!" she cut in quickly, "There is no but's or if's." She was standing very close to me. "There is only 'do it'. Don't regret taking the chance. Don't regret taking the risk. Don't regret living your life." Her face was only inches from mine. Her eyes were intense, her lips forming the words so perfectly, her breath flowing on to my face as she spoke. All I could think of was this hunk of a husband tossing the caber in my face and dancing the highland jig on my grave!

I took a gulp of air and moved slightly backward. I composed myself quickly as I said, "Only if you feel it is the best."

"I do." She said most softly as she held my eyes with hers. The way she said those two words, I was sure we were talking at cross purposes.

It was getting hot in there and I needed to get out. I stood to attention, saluted and scooted out.

I didn't realize I would never see Dr. McGonagall again. Her work with me was basically done and her tour of duty was coming to an end.

Soon Dr. McGonagall would head back to Glasgow, Scotland and the HIV Counseling Clinic down the Great Western Road. She rented one room out of a flat in Hillhead Street and bought enough messages for one. Her favorite drink was Irn Bru and she read The Broons and Oor Wullie every Sunday. She would constantly read and re-read her medical notes on Sergeant John Tyree and forever regret wearing her mother's old wedding ring.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

It was early evening when I checked my Hotmail account. There were six e-mails from William Benjamin. He had split up the attachments as there were quite a few.

I started with the cover-e-mail. Benjamin explained that my father was one of his first clients and as soon as I was born, my father had his will drawn up. He went on to explain my father, and his father before him, were avid coin collectors. To avoid estate taxes, my father methodically transferred ownership of coins to me. Benjamin directed me to the set of documents listing all the coins, approximate current worth at my father's death and the fact that I had received them into my custody. Each page of the list had two initials at the bottom of each page, and on the last page were Benjamin's and my full signatures. "What the hell is going on?" was the first thought after I had finished scanning the pages. "Where's the money? I should be stinking rich… Where's the cash?"

The second to last e-mail dealt with the sale of the house and all its assets. Benjamin explained, per my written instructions, he sold the house quickly, getting a little less than what it was worth, but my directions were perfectly clear. The proceeds of the sale were transferred to an account at the Lenoir National Bank. The account number was listed on the accompanying scanned transfer receipt.

The last e-mail covered the closing of all my fathers and my accounts at the local Bank of North Carolina and the transfer of all remaining funds to the same Lenoir National Bank account.

Stunned would be the understatement of the decade. I got up from the computer table put my hands to the sides of my head the rubbed hard. "What the hell is going on?" I wondered, "What was the stupid John Tyree doing? Playing the casino's with my money?" I was wondering how the old John Tyree blew that much cash in such a short time? Being a guy, the usual explanation for loosing money is gambling or girls. Then I reasoned with myself, "It's got to be gambling, the numbers I was looking at were too big for one girl… what if there were several girls." Now I was wandering off into ridiculous places. Nothing, nothing at all made sense.

I walked about computer room, taking deep breaths to calm down. When somewhat relaxed I sat back down at the computer and started to go through all the e-mails methodically. Every now and again I would go to some coin web site to double check the going prices for comparable coins. Every coin I checked was close to the price listed on the lawyer's list.

It was late when I composed the short e-mail back to Benjamin I had one question. Could he provide the name and an address of the owner of the account where my money went!

I went to bed frustrated. All I was seeing was dead ends and blind leads. At least sleeping on the floor offered sense and security from the stupidity out there. Before I nodded off, a thought came to me. "Who sold the coins? The old John Tyree must have sold the coins on his last visit to the States as he would have been an idiot to bring them to Germany." With slim hope I drifted off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

The next day, Saturday, I set off early to visit the pig man. If there is one thing the army teaches, it is outward confidence. The saying goes something like this, 'If you don't know it, fake it: No one will ever know.' I rode out with confidence and a defining roar. "Damn, I love this Harley," was all I could think as I wound along the roads of Germany.

The map directed me along some beautiful country roads. I loved it. There was such a joy of being alive and able to appreciate sights and sounds. Except just now the sounds was from the grumble 'V' popping along the road. The noise did attract attention, especially in the small villages as I slowed down going through them.

Eventually I descended one side of a valley to the floor where the farm was. As I came down the steep incline I could see three long pig barns. Again, I knew they were pig barns even through I could not see any pigs: I just knew. I rode through the gate and down the short dirt track to the main area of the house, barns, and sheds. There was no need to announce that I had arrived, the Harley had already done it. The animals were kicking up a noise. From the depths of the house I could hear a woman yelling. Every other word sounded like John and the other words were not very complementary: I had been learning some German. She came out the back door with her rolling pin in the air. Of course, Saturday was baking day. Yes, I knew that. I slipped off the helmet and ran my fingers through the stubble.

The little lady stopped, dropped her pin, here eyes were big as she put her hands to her mouth and then did the sign of the cross. The one thing I had totally forgot, I had never been out in public since the accident. No one outside the fence line had seen my face. She stood transfixed looking at me with intense brown eyes. She covered every inch of my face to make sure it was me. Slowly she came forward and grabbed my chin for a better look. "Oh John, what you happened?" She looked closer, moving my chin this way and that. "What you been and done? You been at war? Stupid boy and now look at you." Suddenly she burst into tears, reached up and put her arms around my neck. She kept muttering something in German I didn't know.

"Frau Esser, It's okay, I'm back."

She wailed louder and said, "Why you go? Why you go? All war bad. Look at me, Just you, look at me." Her little frame was sobbing, so I put my arms around her to let her know I was alive. Slowly she stopped and I let her go. She had this angry look in her eyes when she slapped me hard on the cheek and yelled, "You go tell that nothing Fritz we make pigs not horses. Go… GO NOW!" She turned and marched back to the house and I stood there stunned. "Women! Damn, how the heck do you figure them out!" was what crossed my mind as I watched her enter the farm house, leaving the door open. Obviously they knew me, but not the other way about. I took a deep breath and studied the layout. As I looked it all made sense. I knew where things were even though I could not remember being there before. Was it prior knowledge, intuition, or cleaver guess work, I don't know.

The barn at the back was the odd one out. It was a typical red American horse barn in the middle of Germany. Was it the shape, color or previous knowledge: I don't know. I was beginning to get tired of this second guessing business. I was getting tired of wondering if I knew, how I knew and was it something I knew before or after the accident. I was beginning to understand a little more of what Dr. McGonagall said to me. She told me not to fight the confusion of memories. Fighting only created anxiety and that was not good. I was to relax and let it come… if it wanted the memories to come.

I knew I would find Fritz Esser in the barn: and there he was brushing down an American quarter horse. I stopped at the entrance to the barn and said, "Hi Fritz, how's the horse business?"

He looked up and roared back, "Where you been? Where you been?" as he stormed over to me. My face was in the shadow so he did not see it until the last moment. The shock on his face said it all. "What you do face? What happened?" He grabbed my chin and started to move is about peering at me intently. "Stupid boy, you playing hero and shot. What you do that for? I ask you, what you do that for?"

I was thinking, "How the hell do you answer that one?" but my chin was starting to hurt from being grabbed. He let go and I rubbed it. I said, "I had a job to do and messed up."

"Ah ha! You no have right stuff. You said, you said you have right stuff for ever. You lost it now."

I had to put a stop to this normality and come to the new reality. "Herr Fritz, stop for a moment. I need to talk to you. It is most serious what I have to say."

He looked at me puzzled, and said, "Okay… we sit here." He pointed to the hay box. He dropped the lid and we both sat on it.

I looked at him and then the floor and then back at him. He was short, rotund, dark hair with stubble on his face, and horse poop on his boots. He was wearing an American overall and looked totally out of place in rural Germany.

I started off slowly and pieced my way through the story of my life as far as I knew and could remember. He sat there listening. Every now and again he would pull out a big dirty rag and blew his nose.

When I finished the story there was a long pause before Herr Fritz said, "You come right place. We help. We help." With that he jumped up of the box and began to pace the floor. He was deep in through. "You want all I know? Yes, I help. But first talk wife, she help to." With that firm decision made, Herr Fritz marched off to the house yelling something to his wife. I walked to the edge of the barn and listened to the yelling from inside the house. I had to laugh. I knew nothing about love and the secret workings of husbands and wives, but if this was a good example, I'd better start learning how to scream at people.

In a while Herr Fritz cam out of the house yelling for me to come over. "We eat," was the decision. "We eat, then we talk." I nodded. I was learning there was a special rule that said eating and talking go together. The meal was simple and good. Strong brown bread, home made pork sausages, sauerkraut and a small glass of wine. Frau Esser cleared away the table and we waited for her return. I knew Herr Fritz would not start without her at the table: I was right. She came in and sat close beside her husband. They made a formidable pair.

"Okay, I start here, "began Herr Fritz. "Long time go you came through valley. You looking for horse. You wanting to ride. You no good and no money. You have motor and I have horse. We deal… You ride and I ride. Good deal, you and me." With a beam on his face he concluded the history lesson.

Stunned by his brevity, I had to ask some questions. I started with, "How long ago?"

"Oh… two so month." He looked at his wife and gave a gesture of not being sure. She gave one nod of approval.

"Why did I want to ride horses?"

"You no good... You terrible… You bad!" he replied. He then sat on his chair mimicking me on horseback to show how bad I was. Then he and his wife burst into laughter at their memories. Oh how they laughed and cackled away in German at my expense. I was not amused.

"Okay, I was bad, did I get any better?"

"Oh, yes… you get better. I, Herr Fritz Esser teach you good." There was pride in his voice. "I teach you best and you good now. No scared horses."

I had to smile, the thought of me being scared of a horse was too amusing. Then I asked, "How often did I come here?"

"Oh, many times. Many, many times. Alone on motor you come. We clean, feed and ride." He drew out the word 'ride' in such a way you knew there was passion in riding. "We ride everywhere, me, you. You good, me better." His wife slapped him on the shoulder. "Okay, okay… we both good." Looking at his wife he added, "Happy?" She gave one nod of satisfaction. "Then I teach you rope and bulldog." His wife nodded again in satisfaction.

I really thought I missed something, so I repeated it back, "Rope and bulldog?" It sounded more like a place then something to learn.

"Yes, I teach you, you learn. You okay." He wobbled his hand from side to side indicating how okay, okay really was.

"Okay, rope and bulldog… come on, you show me." With that I pushed my chair back and stood up. I had no clue what I was getting myself into, but if the old John Tyree could do it, so could I. What did Dr. McGonagall say, "Take life by the horns", or something like that?

"Ha!" said Herr Fritz in a bold voice, "You forget?"

"Okay… okay…yes, I forget. But I can remember fast!"

"Good you. We go, have funny on dummy… Just like days old!" We marched off into the back yard, through the horse barn and out the far said. On the far side of the barn was an enclosure and in the enclosure were an assortment of roping dummies. Oh yes, I knew they were dummies and my fingers started twitching for a rope. My thumb and forefinger were going round and round. Yes, I had been here before… and it felt good.

I was curious, "Where did you learn all this?" I asked Herr Fritz as he was going through his ropes.

"I learn from John Wayne, Magnificent Seven, Little Grasshopper, Gunsmoke, and Bonanza! Read books and videos." Then, casually he added in all modesty, "Rest I do self." He looked at me and burst out in loud laughter. When he calmed down a little he asked, "You believe?"

"Why not, it sounds good to me."

Soberly he said, "I tell truth. We belong circus many times ago. There I learn all. Good people, work hard, save money and buy place. Now only pig farmer." With that he spat on the ground. "Pig farmer makes money, no respect. People laugh at smell. No one comes, circus gone, old times gone." There was sadness in his voice. He stopped working on the ropes and through. "One day, we go America. One day, we go ride in west. One day we chase longhorn Texas. One day we sell and go. When back, we die happy. Yes, we die happy."

He stopped sorting the ropes and said with authority, "Music, then rope!"

He opened a little box on the inside of the barn, flicked a switch and turned on his IPod which was hooked up to two big speakers hanging close to the door of the barn. Out blasted Willie Nelson telling all mothers, not to let their sons grow up to be cowboys, followed by Dolly Pardon going on about working nine to five. Herr Fritz loved Country & Western and Zydeco music. Eventually I did to.

He selected two ranch ropes and two healing ropes, all with break-a-ways. We were out the back of the barn for a long while practicing, practicing and then more practicing. The ropes felt really good to my fingers and I roped with confidence. I actually knew what I was doing without having to think about it. We practiced various throws from the standard overhead to side throws and the houlihan. We worked on heading and healing the dummies. Once Herr Fritz was happy with my performance he said, "We go." and we walked into the pasture where the young steers were.

Herr Fritz pointed at the steers and said, "You help, snip snip."

"Snip snip?"

"Yes, snip snip." He said. To help my understanding, he pointed to his groin and demonstrated with his two fingers how to snip snip.

With clear understanding, I said, "Yes, snip snip." Herr Fritz smiled. We pushed the steers from the main pasture to a smaller pen where I knew the serious work would take place.

Once the gates were all secure, Herr Fritz said, "I show." He started to walk behind the steers rolling the rope over his head. As he moved, the steers moved away. The one at the back was the target. He maneuvered into position and threw a trap on the back legs. He got doubles and pulled. The rope tightened and then snapped off: the steer quickly got back into the middle of the group. Herr Fritz turned to me grinning and said, "You go."

We changed position, me on the ground he Herr Fritz on the fence. I did the same, but I knew what to do. I had confidence in the way I walked, moved and pushed the steers. Once the rhythm was established, I started to roll the rope over my head. My roll was slightly different from Herr Fritz's. It was a little flatter and sloping toward the front. I let go the rope, and rolled my wrist to the left. The rope sailed over the steer and dropped nicely over the horns. Herr Fritz roared in loud approval. "I knew, I knew… You always go for horns. You like the head, not much legs." With that he jumped down and started swinging his rope.

We ate a fine evening meal, talked and laughed. Herr Fritz loved to talk and tell stories, and I found out that I loved to sit and listen to them. His wife flitted about, listening, but not joining in. She just wanted to be close to her husband. It was late when I drove out of the gate going back to the base. The air was cool, but I was warm inside. Life felt good even though my fingers were sore. On the ride home I realized we had not talked about 'bulldog' only about roping. I sighed and filed away that question for the next time.

I called Herr Fritz and arranged to come over Friday evening and leave on Sunday evening. That way I could help about his farm and still get in practice time.

That Friday I motored over, they knew I had arrived by the usual noise of the Harley. Herr Fritz was in the pig barn working on his feeding system; something was wrong and needed his undivided attention. Helping him was Otto, a young man from the local village. Young Otto was sort of an apprentice who's parents wanted him to buy the pig farm when the Esser's finally retired. He was in the thick of it with Herr Fritz. Seeing there was work to be done I asked Herr Fritz if the horses had been tended to. He said no so I took care of them.

Going in to the horse barn that night I experienced a certain quietness that is hard to describe. Working methodically I scooped out the feed into the buckets and took the buckets out to the pastures where the horses were waiting. They knew it was feeding time. I put the feed into their troughs, and then replacing the buckets. Next, I went over to the hay box. Herr Fritz gives one bat of hay at feeding time and I did the same. Once the feeding was done, I checked the water, swept up the loose hay and stood there in the middle of the barn surveying my handiwork. I felt a deep satisfaction of a job well done. As I stood there my mind wandered to another barn, slightly different, slightly older, but I could not place it. I thought, "Oh well…" and wandered back to the pig barn to see Herr Fritz and Otto emerge; evidently they had fixed the broken machinery.

Once they washed up the three of us sat outside drinking German beer. It was then that I asked Herr Fritz about 'bulldog.' I was very curious.

"You know… bulldog" was his reply which was supplemented by using his hands to demonstrate. No matter how he showed me, I was clueless, and it showed on my face. Herr Fritz scratched his head and finally said, "We show. Otto show." Otto beamed with pride at being selected to show me how to 'bulldog.' We marched through the horse stable, out the far side and over to the small arena that Herr Fritz had made. With a series of flicks, lights light up the arena and a sense of excitement came over us. We worked quickly getting three horses saddled and then we pushed several steers into the shoot. Young Otto stayed on horseback while Herr Fritz and myself moved to the shoot. Otto backed his horse into the box and waited.

Herr Fritz yelled, "Go!" With that a steer shot out of the shoot zooming across the arena with Otto in hot pursuit. Otto used his spurs hard on the horse and in a matter of a few strides Otto was just about along side the steer. Suddenly he slid off his horse and onto the steer's back. Otto grabbed the steer's horns, stuck his boots in the dirt, twisted the head and fell backward onto the ground and the speeding heifer lay there alongside. All that happened in about seven or eight seconds. I was totally amazed. I had never seen anything like that. Even though it was young Otto that had 'bulldog' I felt an adrenaline rush all over me. Herr Fritz turned to me and said, "You go?" He had a smile a mile wide on his face. He had the advantage of knowing the old John Tyree. Sensing my hesitation he added, "Old John, he do."

It was either a case of one too many beers or not wanting the old John Tyree to do something better then me: I had to do it.

Seeing young Otto perform magic was seared into my memory. I closed my eyes and could recall the action. I could play it fast forward or in slow motion. I could clearly see young Otto, and his face of concentration. "Damn, having memories is really cool," I thought. I borrowed Otto's spurs. While I put them on he ran through all the actions I would have to do. He warned my about the horns and showed how to wrap my arms about them to prevent being skewered. He made it look so easy I was sure I could do it.

I mounted up, backed the horse into the box and gave a nod to Herr Fritz. On the other side of the shoot was Otto on horseback acting as the hazer. At my nod, Herr Fritz yelled, "Go!" and I zoomed out. I spurred the horse several times and picked up speed fast. I had to hold on hard as I had was not expecting the Quarter horse to take off that fast. I regrouped as I came alongside the steer. I slid off the horse, grabbed the horns and went tumbling into a cloud of dust. My hold was not good enough. I lay there in the middle if the arena looking up into the blue sky and started to laugh. I laughed long and hard. In those few seconds I realized I had found the true love of my life.

Herr Fritz came running over and asked, "You good?"

I reached up and took he outstretched hand and said, "Yes, I'm good!" Jumping to my feet. I had to ask, "How good was the Old John?"

"Oh, He bad, very bad. He miss horns get kicked boom in side, like this" Herr Fritz pointed to his side and indicated how the cow had kicked the Old John. I felt a deep satisfaction at bettering his attempt.

I tried it two more times with the same failure. Oh how I loved it. The failures did not diminish the thrill I felt.

When I arrived back on base I fired up the internet and started searching. The proper name was Steer Wrestling or bulldogging and the man who invented it was Bill Pickett. Fortunately YouTube had many examples of bulldogging and I slowly recognized what I was doing wrong. That whole week I mentally practiced the holds and how to twist the heifer's head. The next weekend I was ready to try my hand at bulldogging.

Between calf roping and bulldogging, I was a total failure at calf roping while I was eating up bulldogging.

I tried and tried calf roping and just couldn't get it. My swing would be off; I started my swing too late; or I started my swing was too early… and on and on the problems went. Despite never succeeding I kept trying. It got to the point I had lost count of the failures, I just enjoyed getting out there and trying. I knew I was not a failure and the memories I was making were mine to keep.

Bulldogging was a huge adrenaline rush. I was getting it and getting it just about every time. My time was not outstanding, but respectable for a beginner. Young Otto kept helping me with my technique and lending me spurs. When he would be bulldogging, I would be the hazer for him. When It was my turn, we traded places.

We settled into a routine of me coming out late Friday and leaving early Monday morning to be back in time for the morning roll call. We cleaned, fed and took care of the pigs and horses. The horse manure was picked up along with the pig manure and hauled off. I had always wondered what you did with horse manure. We roped the dummies and then on horse back. The transition from ground to the horse went relatively smoothly. The key was to remember to keep your thumb up.

And then we would go for long rides. Actually they were long walks as we never rode the horses hard. Most Sundays were spent miles away over the hills and through the forests that surrounded the pig farmer's place.

I was at peace except for the reply back from Benjamin. His e-mail was not very encouraging. He pointed out that like the privileged relationship between clients and their lawyers, there was a federal obligation for secrecy between clients and their banks. Only bank and certain federal personnel had access to account details. He also pointed out the penalties for illegal access of private bank data under federal statutes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

Using the internet I tracked down the meaning of the list of dates I found in my wallet. They were the first day of the full moon. With that information I started to ask others what they thought the significance of the dates could mean. Taking out the loony left and creepy right comments, all the guys were sure it was a girl. Nothing else fitted since it started while I was on leave back in the states and carried on through to my accident. Virtually every girl I talked to said it was very romantic to remember a certain date, and more romantic to be outside when there was a full moon.

The first time I want out on the first night of a full moon I felt weird. I went out and wandered about a bit eventually finding a picnic table to sit on. I leaned back and looked up into a clear evening sky. The moon did look good and was very relaxing. I never realized just how big space was. Gazing up into the eternities, you see things different. The bright moon was accompanied my myriads of stars and, every now and again, the flashing light of an aircraft. Things looked really different.

A girl. Somehow I had never thought of a girl. A girl for John Tyree or a girl for O.G. And so I began so dream of finding this girl that had affected the old John Tyree so much. Then I w I wondered to myself, "If she was that good, where was she? Where were the photos and letters? Why is there nothing here? Did they break up and John wanted to get rid of her? But why keep looking at the moon if they broke up? Why keep up a one-sided relationship? Does she know he was hurt? Does she care?" And then came the big one, "Is she somewhere looking up at the moon as I am doing?" When that last thought skipped across my mind, I could feel memories jerking about. Things flashed through my consciousness, but nothing was whole and nothing made sense. I knew there was something special the old John Tyree wanted to hold on to despite everything else and, most probably, this was his way of doing it.

I liked the old John Tyree more and more. Somehow, I had to get in touch with some of his old army buddies that could help. I was hoping the old John Tyree wasn't too tight lipped.

Getting names out of the army isn't exactly easy. They are not geared that way. Yes there are records, but doing a personal chase is frowned on. So I had to find another way. So I went back to my files and started to write down unit numbers, places and any other little thing that might be of use in tracking down old friends. I just assumed there was someone back there who knew something about me and a certain girl.

I would not call it an obsession, but there is a certain thrill of the chase. However, the chase is one thing and catching the target is something else. I had not thought that far ahead.

Up to now, the army had been leaving me alone to get better and see how I would turn out. I had been working with a squad, but they were getting to rotate into Iraq. The Sergeant was good but I could see he was tired of me hanging about and needed to get his men into condition, and I was cramping his style.

On the other hand, the army liked my marksmanship numbers. They were better than average and I was hearing mutterings of me moving into sniper school. They had them at the French base close by. The French base was deep in the countryside, far away from prying eyes and that extra security allowed latitude in working conditions. I liked the solitude of being alone with one goal in mind, to kill the enemy before he kills one of us. The relaxation techniques taught by Dr. McGonagall were directly applicable to the waiting game I was starting to learn. A sniper stays calm doing nothing and stays cool when the enemy comes into view and all the way through to the end of the job. I was getting comfortable in this new roll.

I had tried talking to officers up the line about my future, I received evasive responses. Yes, they were encouraging, but not solid enough to be sure of my future in the army. I thought the evasiveness was due to my chance of moving into a sniper roll, so I kept working and developing that skill.

**********

I had been saving my pay and was sitting pretty good for being so poor. My only major bill was for gas. Running the Harley was economical, but this was Germany and the price of gas was high.

And then there was a letter I had received from Tom Goodman, coin dealer in Raleigh, NC. The letter was sent to the house in Wilmington and forwarded to me in Germany. Obviously he knew me as the letter was very friendly. He said someone had been asking questions about some of the coins he had sold for me. He also said not to worry as he said nothing. I put his letter with the Buffalo head nickel & photo taken at Atlanta. I knew there was a story there, but I was in Germany and not the States. I thought I had time on my hands, but I did not.

Everything changed on Monday morning before Thanksgiving 2007.

I was called into the commanding officer's office. He was blunt and kind at the same time. "Son, the army has made a decision; they are going to issue you a medical discharge. An honorable discharge, that is. You have done great, but we are needing men to go to the front. The work is shifting to Afghanistan and is going to ramp up. I hope you understand son. It is no stain on you, just how the army is."

"Yes, Sir, thank you Sir," I barked out. I saluted, turned round and marched out of his office. Waiting for me was Sergeant George. It was his job to assist me transitioning from military to civilian life. All I could think was, "This is not going to be fun!" And I was right.

Sergeant George clarified things. Yes I was getting discharged, but not quite. I was going into the reserves as a sniper 3rd class. I was expected to report one weekend a month for sniper school for advanced sniper training. My expected time in the reserves was three years. Yes I would receive full military benefits and access to army bases and the deal I had when I re-upped the last time gave me a full four year scholarship at a public school in North Carolina.

I walked out of the office stunned. I had just about a week to wrap up and go home. Yep, the future was not looking too good right about now.

Wilmington NC was the only place I really thought about living at after my discharge. Home would always be home, and hopefully I would find someone at home to fill in some of the gaps in my life. With that decision out of the way, I was still facing the big ones; where to live and how to make money.

The army had shielded me so well, I was really worried. Really worried about making it in civilian life with no family or friends. No matter how I was looking at the future, it looked grim. Curves were not good for me, they made me feel tight inside and caused throbbing in the head and I had to find a place to sit down, relax and let things go until I was calm again. I needed to relax and think. The last days were really bad and I was starting to get the bad nightmares again.

Of course I spent Thanksgiving with Herr and Frau Esser. Actually I went out the day before. The Esser's didn't mind. It was late that day when Herr Fritz said, "You no worry, I fix you good. Friend to help. You fixed good."

I loved his way with words. Being 'fixed' did not sound so bad when it came from him. I knew what he meant. Wanting to know more, I asked, "How you fix me?"

"Old friend from long past. He owe, he help. He has work, you do work, you get money. He look you."

"Where is he?"

"America."

I should have been more specific, "Where in America?"

"North Carolina with you." That location sounded like music to my ears. Then he added, "You work very very hard. You make Herr Fritz good of you. You come visit old Herr Fritz and tell all you do."

I had brought two gifts for the Esser's. They were not much as I found shopping very challenging: people would stare and some would shy away. For Frau Esser I bought her a new rolling pin. Her old wooden pin was joined by my top of the line granite one. German made, of course. For Herr Fritz I bought a folding pocket knife and I made its sheath out of leather with fancy stitching on the edges and his initials on the front. Herr Fritz was speechless. He held it in his hands, running his fingers over the leather and muttered quietly as his eyes sparkled. "Oh, my… such beauty for pig farmer." After a long pause he added, "You good boy, so proud." He reached forward and pointed at my heart and added, "This is good here, so good." He whipped out his dirty hanky and blew his nose.

Thanksgiving Day started off with the usual chores. Horses had to be fed, stalled cleaned out, water replenished. Also the pigs had to be tended. Then came a hearty breakfast of bacon -what else, this is a pig farm- blood pudding, and scrambled eggs. Coffee was out of their battered percolator pot; as usual it was Continental Roast.

After breakfast we saddled up and went riding. I was not sure who was the saddest, Herr Fritz or myself. Over the past months we had grown close. An old man and a young grunt tied together by the love of horses and cowboys. From that closeness grew a friendship that I did not realize was happening until now. Until it was time to say good bye. Now I knew how important memories were as that was all I was going to take with me out of Germany. Memories and an empty place in my heart for a pig farmer and his wife.

Riding a Harley in November is cold and I wanted to be back on base before it was dark. I had chosen three o'clock as time to go. As I was getting dressed, Herr Fritz started talking about his friend in North Carolina. "Herr Fritz has fixed you with William Orazimbo. Big man close you." He gave me Mr. Orazimbo's name, address and phone number, but Herr Fritz said someone would be waiting at the airport for me.

It was rough saying good bye…

I traveled by rail and then aeroplane to London, Heathrow. I changed to a flight for Washington Dullas and then by small aircraft to Wilmington International Airport. It was late when I arrived. I was working on my breathing techniques. I was really close to being in a panic. The sleep I had on the aeroplane had not been good and I could not trust myself if I fell asleep. I was afraid I might start a fight and not realize it.

Wilmington airport is not exactly big and not many flights come in or out. As I got to the end of the concourse there was a Hispanic male holding up a card with the name of John Tyree on it. Yep, Herr Fritz came through for me. I dialed Herr Fritz's number, woke him up and told him I loved him for this and I owed him big time. He balled me out for waking him up and then casually said he would be collecting soon. I picked up my one bag and strolled out into my first American sunset.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

Pedro Gonzalez had virtually no English and I had no Spanish. He was dressed in a light brown Wrangler shirt with the Circle O Ranch embalm on the left pocket. The pick-up truck was also light brown and had Circle O Ranch embalms on each side. Despite being impressed by the reception I promptly fell asleep once we hit the road. I was tired. I was asleep for the entire trip to the ranch and down the dirt road all the way to the main ranch barn.

I woke up when the engine was turned off and the rocking motion of the truck stopped. Pedro showed me to my quarters in the barn. I didn't unpack, I just fell asleep on the bed with all my clothes on.

At 5am Pedro woke me and said breakfast was in 30 minutes. My internal clock was off by seven hours. I wanted to sleep but forced myself to wake up, find the bathroom, shave, showered and put on clean clothes. I was not feeling too awake as I walked to the big house where I could see breakfast activity.

William Orazimbo was a big man with a big deep voice. When William saw me enter the kitchen he boomed out, "Welcome to the Circle O Ranch, son. Pull up a chair and join us." He had a hearty plate before him and was working steadily through its contents. Between chewing he carried on. "I hear you like to go by O.G.?"

"Yes, Sir," was my automatic reply.

"Son, no need for formalities here. You call me Bill or Boss." Pointing to Pedro, he said, "This is Pedro, you have already met and these here are Pedro's two sons, Jose and Geraldo." He nodded toward younger versions of Pedro.

"Yes Sir." Was the reply.

Bill laughed, and said, "Yep, you are fresh." I would say Bill was in his seventies, large stature, thick white hair and a ruddy outdoor complexion. His hair showed where his Stetson sat.

After breakfast we went into his office, closed the door and sat down. He sat on the boss's side of the desk and I was on the other side. We got down to business. "I hear you are looking for a job and I'm looking for a ranch manager I can trust. The last one I ran off with a shotgun." With that he pointed out the window behind him and continued, "See that truck in the pasture?" I nodded, "That belongs to the last manager. He's still not come back to get it. If I see his ass on my land I shall blast him with my gun! Get it?" Oh yes, I had got it. "There are two rules on this ranch. First, I'm the boss. Second, if anything happens, you tell me." Quickly he added, "Don't lie, cheat or steal and we will get along just fine." I just sat there saying nothing and wondering if this was something I could do. I mean, me managing a ranch.

Bill was glancing down at a sheet of paper that had fine cursive hand writing on it. "Next point. We never mention family to my wife, so I will tell you how things are, just once, and you keep it to your self. Her mother died young. Her father killed himself when she was sixteen, he was stupid drunk. Then our two girls were killed by a drunk driver. That's it. Don't you ever talk about family to my wife or you will be answering to a 45, and I know the Sheriff real well. You will also notice there are no family photos except of the two of us. Get it?"

"Yes, Sir," was my dubious reply. I was thinking, "What the hell have I gotten myself into here?"

Bill quickly added, "No drinking on the job and no alcohol on the premises… ever. You do and you are fired!" The look in his eyes told me he meant business.

Looking at his list Bill started to review my responsibilities with the ranch. "Every Monday we have a working breakfast in this office to go over old and then new business. We always do it in that order, see. This ranch is not big, but it is not too small: the size is just about right. My ancestors came here through the indentured servant program of the early 1700's. We survived, bought land and held on to it despite the Civil War. I have 23,000 acres with roughly 13,000 under cultivation through long term leases. The rest of the land is for my cattle and horse breading work. That is where you come in. You are the new manager of that operation."

My mouth must have hit the floor because Bill put up his hand and said, "I know you are not really qualified for the job. But, you are army, you are willing to learn and you are a good friend of Herr Fritz Esser. Herr Esser and I go back a long way. I knew his father many years ago during the Cold War. Before your time, son. I was stationed in the US section of Berlin during the early 1960's when the wall went up. That was one scary shit I can tell you." I must have given him a dirty look as he did some backtracking, "No, I didn't see any action and I never shot at the enemy. But it was my tank facing a Russian tank at Checkpoint Charlie. We were loaded, locked and ready to fire on receiving the order from President Kennedy." He smiled, "Different era's son, but still doing the same job of defending this country against all known enemies."

There was a long pause as he studied his notes. He picked up with my duties. "As I was saying, I have to top of the line herds and mean to keep it that way. Your job is to make sure it happens. That means you have a lot of shit to learn. You are lucky to join us during the early winter. That means you have the next several months to learn while it is quiet on the ranch. Once spring starts, all hell breaks loose and the year really gets going. Even though I say I am the boss, there is one more important than me: Mother Nature. We follow her rhythms throughout the year. We have been doing that since my ancestors bought this land. We go with nature, we never fight it."

He ran his finger down the list, I was hoping we were getting near the end. "Church", he boomed out. "We all go to church on Sunday." It was not a question; it was a statement of fact. He added, "I hope you will be joining us?"

"Yes Sir," was my stock reply. It lacked conviction this time.

"We are trying a new church. The old one is getting too greedy." I didn't have a good or bad feel for religion. Never really gave it much thought. The clergy on base somehow missed me while I was in the hospital and never contacted me once I was back on base. I guess the best word would be ambivalent. Bill continued, "Then we go eat at the Farmer's Stockade Restaurant in town. It is the only one in town, so everyone is there. After that we come home, relax for a while before time for evening chores."

"I take care of all financial matters, you take care of the animals. And while we are on the topic of money, your salary is good but there are no benefits. If you want insurance, get it yourself. There is no fat in farming these days to cover the high cost of insurance." He continued, "You will live in the quarters in the barn. They are private and within easy access during spring and fall activities. You will be assigned a horse with all the tack and we have a generous clothing allowance. Eventually you will have your own saddle and chaps to look after. Minor stuff you can pick-up at the tack and feed store in town. While on company business I do require all men to be dressed in clean clothes."

Looking over his list, he concluded with, "That just about covers it. Except for one thing. Old Mrs. Bohannon, next ranch up the road, is old. We take care of her one horse, Spot. She doesn't pay us to do it, and I would never ask for anything. We do it as an act of charity for some one of advanced years. Now, I can't force you to help in this work, but I would look mightily favorably if you were willing to assist. We believe in 'doing' and not 'hearing' only."

I quickly asked, "Feed twice a day and…?" I left the sentence dangling.

"We feed twice a day and, most of the time, leave Spot out in the pasture. If the weather is cold he can go under the loafing shed to be out of the wind and rain. If there is a freeze, pull him in to the stalls. All quite simple."

"Sir, I can handle it." I said full of bullshit.

"Son, I am glad. Welcome to the Circle O Ranch. I think we have the beginning of a good relationship."

I had the feeling Bill was bullshitting as much as I was. Sensing the meeting was over, I asked, "Is there anything else?"

Bill looked at me, pushed back his chair, put his leather cowboy boots on his desk, leaned back and said, "Yes, there is. I hear you like calf roping and steer wrestling?"

"Yes, Sir." Was my positive reply.

"Over the road is the Jones Ranch. They have four sons and two daughters. All are grown up but still live on the ranch. Pretty much every Saturday night they have a local rodeo over there. Lots of noise, fun and plenty of bragging rights to earn. We have not had anyone in those rodeos in a mighty long time. Be nice to have the ranch represented again." He was looking for a positive answer.

"Sir, I am willing to participate…" I started to say, but was cut off by Bill slapping the desk with the palm of his hand. The bang of the noise threw me of balance and he had a big grin on his face. "As I was saying, Sir, I am willing to participate only if I can get time to practice during the week. I need more practice."

"You got it," Bill shot back.

"I feel comfortable about steer wrestling, but not about calf roping. To be perfectly honest, Sir, I have not caught a calf… ever."

Stunned by my low number, Bill reiterated, "None as in zero?"

"Yes, Sir, that is correct, Sir."

He regrouped and said, "I guess you can't go any lower."

With that I felt the interview was over. Just as I reached the door Bill added one more caveat to the job description. He added, "No question is a stupid question. If you have a question and don't ask, then you're the stupid one. Remember Forest Gump?" I shook my head, I had never heard of him. "He said, 'Stupid is as stupid does.' I like that."

I closed the door behind me and let out a deep breath. Waiting for me was Mary, Bill's wife. She gave me a sweet smile. "He's a puppy under that gruff exterior." Was her supporting comment. "You'll do just fine." Then she added, "Geraldo is waiting for you in the kitchen. He will be your guide for the next while. He knows a lot and will help you get up to speed."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

My first Sunday at the ranch started out in the usual way with tending to the animals. After breakfast it was time for church. The more I had been thinking about having to go to church the more I resented it. I liked the freedom to choose, and I was having hard feelings about being forced to choose.

We used the ranches big F-350 diesel truck, the one with the big crew cab. Bill drove with Mary and me up front and Pedro and his sons in the back.

We roared down the drive way. I found out Bill has only one gear, and that was going flat out all the time. Out of the ranch we went west toward town.

The ranch was close to Halls Storehouse, sort of in the middle of nowhere, and that was how Bill liked it. He liked having some elbow room and few neighbors. The nearest town, which was also the county seat complete with courthouse, could brag one restaurant, one gas station with attached convenience store, a tack and feed store, and no fast food places. There were several closed up buildings in the courthouse square. Business was not too good.

We came over a ridge in the road to see a church on the left side of the road. We didn't stop.

"Cowboy church," barked Bill. "We don't go there since that damn drunk John Bulles took over. He was all washed up here abouts. No one would hire him as he was always drunk. So he got religion and started his own church. He has about fifty silly fools listening to him each Sunday and putting hard cash on to the plate."

"Strike that one off the list," I thought as we carried on down the road.

On the right was a big red brick church, which we passed. Bill did not disappoint me with a comment. In a non-complementary voice he said, "Go to school to learn religion is a dumb way. I didn't see Jesus or his men do that. Did you?" he asked the question looking at me.

Taking my queue from the tone of his voice I said, "No Sir."

"Polite, I'll give him that." Was his comment to Mary. She was not saying anything. I was sure she had heard it all before.

We pulled in to town and passed a church meeting at the high school. It was a start-up church called The Living Water Church. "Blah, a bunch of young kids that don't believe in the Bible. They preach the get rich doctrine. You know, ask God for money and he will give it to you. Nothing about helping the poor with that lot!"

After we passed by a Catholic and an Episcopalian church on two corners of a cross road. Bill quipped, "Damn Protestants were all excommunicated from the true church, so why the hell are they still going? And the Catholics were selling bones and indulgences for money! Why go there?" I got the strong impression Bill was not impressed by certain churches. Now I was beginning to wonder what type of church we were going to.

Eventually we turned left down a dirt road onto a farm with a large barn. In the barn were benches and a very simple pulpit at the front. Bill led the way to about the middle of the church where we sat and waited. I was warming to the idea of church. I wanted to know why here and not all the other churches.

The minister, dressed in a simple suit, addressed the gathered congregation as brothers and sisters. After the administration of the sacrament the minister got up to address the congregation. "Two weeks ago the sermon was on the eternities before we came to this mother earth. Last week we talked about why we are on this planet and not some other one. We also talked about why we have been saved to this time and not some other."

Clear as a bell, "Right on Brother Joseph," came from the back.

Not missing a stride, Brother Joseph said, "Thank you Brother Brigham. And now we conclude this series with, what are we going to do in the future eternities. The key question is, and note it well brothers and sisters, what will you be doing to occupy your time in the eternities to come? If you ask the ministers of those paid churches they will tell you what they are paid to say. Or they will say it is some sort of mystery we are not supposed to know. I say bunk! I say we know what we are going to do and I shall tell it to you."

Again from the back came, "Right on Brother Joseph."

"The good Lord has made many things known from the beginning of time to men on this and all other planets that hold his children. Brothers and Sisters, in the future you and I will exist as families, with a worthy father and mother teaching their children how to make planets, create complete universes, move through time and space at will, and live with each other, despite our differences.

"Our communication will not be by pen and paper, but through an instantaneous system that will cover the entire known universe. There will be no lost children or missed messages.

"Will this knowledge and ability come instantaneously? Of course not. We will have to learn it line upon line, precept upon precept, principle upon principle. And I would expect there will be points where our knowledge and ability will be tested to make sure we are using the powers correctly, even though there would be no desire for wrongful manipulation.

"Right on Brother Joseph." Said Brother Brigham from the back.

This type of preaching sounded more like science fiction than religion. Then again, I had not thought passed the next meal, let along the eternities. I was not sure if I believed in life passed this one. The preacher sipped some water and then carried on.

"Will we be carbon copies of each other in the future? The answer is a simple, no. We were distinct before, we are distinct here, and we will be distinct in the future eturnities. Since we will have our knowledge of the past restored, we will be able to move forward to greater knowledge than ever before. The sciences and skills of our modern world will be trivial to our future knowledge and abilities. As we progress forward we will make worlds just like this one. We will know how." He paused, "That is why we are to keep the commandments so we can prove worthy to receive all that the good Father has for us. All, as in everything. All, as in all skills. All, as in all understanding. All, as in doing all."

"Right on Brother Joseph." Brother Brigham chimed from the back.

"If we don't keep the commandments, the eternities will still be bright future, but only with the brightness of the stars or the moon, when you could have had the sun. You will still be happy, not as families, and doing not as much. The preacher paused to let what he had said sink in.

"Were you and I sent here to fail? I say no. All of us have the ability to be winners, if we want to. We all have the ability to succeed, if we want it bad enough. As for me and my house, we want the big prize in the sky. I want it all and am willing to pay the price. The question is, are you?"

The last word of the meeting was, "Right on Brother Joseph."

This was all new to me. Having never read the Bible, as far as I could remember, I wondered where all this doctrine came from. I was thinking, I'd better find a Bible and do some research.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

December 24 was the full moon and December 25, 2007 was Christmas Day. Christmas Day was a low point. I called Herr Fritz and we chatted for a long while. Chatting on the phone is not the same as being there. Words can only go so far, you need to see and read the other person's face and actions. Yes, there was a big meal up at the ranch house. I went, but did not feel comfortable about being there since I was the new kid on the block.

Using one of the pick-up trucks, I did the Christmas morning feed over at Old Mrs. Bohannon's place. For the evening feed I decided to ride over on horseback. Distance wise, it was shorter to ride across country than by the road. I saddled up and rode off about 4:30pm. I had on enough to keep me warm during the chilly evening ride. The new chaps felt just great. The night was calm and peaceful with only the noise of the horse's feet brushing through the grass. I was riding smoothly, glancing up at the sky, looking about at the path in front, checking the area round about, and loving every minute of the night ride.

I rode into the stables and tied Blackie up in a stall and set to work measuring out the feed. I did not get very far as around the corner of the barn appeared an old lady with and over-and-under shotgun pointing at me! Instinct almost got the better of me. I was about to dive into the adjacent stall. Standing my ground I said, "Hallow Mrs. Bohannon, I'm O.G. from the Circle O Ranch to feed your horse Spot."

"Where's your car?" was the caustic reply.

Pointing to the stall, I said, "I rode over."

Old Mrs. Bohannon peaked into the stall and noticed the brand on the back of the saddle. With one hand on the gun she used her other hand to flip open her cell phone and dial 911 and held the phone away from her. She had the call on the speaker phone. Being a rural community everyone knows everyone and the call went to Rose at the county command center. Mrs. Bohannon told Rose she wanted police and Rose asked why. Mrs Bohannon said she found a stranger in the barn and that I said my name was O.G. from the Circle O Ranch. Rose told Old Mrs. Bohannon to look at my face and tell her what she saw. Mrs. Bohannon peered at me and said, "Gezz what an ugly… Who the hell did that to you?"

"Taliban, Ma'am." Was my polite reply. Never argue with and over-and-under.

"I heard that…" said the tinny voice of Rose. "That you O.G.?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it's me."

"Mrs. Bohannon, you can't get O.G. mixed up with anyone. Just look at that face. There's no one in the whole wide county like him."

With that Mrs. Bohannon snapped the phone together and dropped the gun. "Next time make some damn noise. Open the back door and yell. Do something, just don't creep about on a black horse." With that crusty statement she marched back to her house.

After I finished feeding Spot I called Bill to let him know what happened. The Blackberry came with the job. He said to drop by the office when I got back.

"Yeh, she can be pretty rude, but she had a point. How the hell was she to know what was going on when you didn't use the truck?"

"So, almost getting blasted away was my fault?"

"No, of course not. But you have to let her know you are about. Just open the back door and let her know you are there and when you leave. That way she's happy and you will stay alive."

"Okay, okay." I replied reluctantly.

"She comes from a large family," Bill continued, "Two brothers died in WWII, one in North Korea, one in Viet Nam and the last one died in the first invasion of Iraq. She has no immediate family left, except for two nephews living up state. One's a mental retarded and the other is knocking on death's door. Seems cancer had come back and she doesn't give him much time. He had twins a couple of months ago, so there's someone to take over the place, if she wants. What I'm saying is, she's had a rough life. Sacrificed more for her country than most and does not have a lot to live for except her grandchildren. Be nice to her."

"Yes Sir. Be nice, Sir." I said tersely.

Quickly he added, "Watch out for the cook. If you think Mrs. Bohannon is tough, wait until you meet her cook: she eats nails for breakfast!" I was not amused by this new revelation. "Charity," I was thinking, "should begin and stay at home and not carry a loaded over-and-under!"

January and February of 2008 were very busy because the ranch sponsored Buster McLaury and his month long horse starting clinics at the ranch arena. The ranch was crawling with trailers, trucks, horses and loads of extra people. Fortunately, we did not have to provide anything except the arena. Participants had to look after themselves. I tried to stay in the background as much as possible. As Bill put it, he didn't want to scare anyone away. So long as I wore a cap or hat, it was only the scars on the cheeks that could be seen while the one above the eye and the long one on top of my head were covered.

As much as I wanted to stay away, I was drawn in by Buster McLaury's patience and charm with the people and, more importantly, the horses. He was good, damn good. Then again he was born on the 6666 Ranch and been around horses and cattle all his life.

In January my feet hardly touched the ground. So much to learn and so busy. I was wondering if this is the quiet season, what would the rest of the year bring?

During the third January 2008 Monday meeting, Bill asked me when I was fixing to join in the Jones Ranch rodeo's? As if I didn't have enough on my plate. I had not so much as given the thought of attending one ounce of attention. I knew the right answer, but I struggled to say it. Finally, I got it out. "This week, Sir."

"Good," was his long reply, "I don't go to those things, too noisy and too late for me. Old man Jones, he goes. Make sure you visit him and let him know who you are. He likes to feel big, and we can oblige." I got the feeling I was being used as a pawn in a chess game I didn't understand or know about.

"Yes Sir. I can do that." Was my reply.

"Take Blue, he's the best horse for rodeoing."

I had already planned on Blue, but allowed Bill the satisfaction.

That Saturday evening I loaded Blue into a two horse trailer and motored over the road to the Jones Ranch. It was a short distance, but I did not want to risk riding Blue on the road. The Jones Ranch was a fancy spread. The Jones family found oil on their land back in 1924 and managed to keep the family from tearing itself apart by having only one son per generation. Old man Jones failed to follow family tradition and there were stories that even reached my ears at the bottom of the totem pole.

I signed up and paid my entry fees for calf roping and steer wrestling. Bill made sure I knew all entry fees were to come out of my pocket since I would get any winnings, that is, if I win. I was not amused by his largess.

Can chasing was something I wished I could do. I loved the shear speed of it all. Ever since Herr Fritz told me cowboys don't chase cans, only girls do, I have sat on the sides and watched and wished I could join in. I always thought of it as poetry in motion. The speed of the horse, the girl leaning forward, the pair going with one motion and going flat out. Oh, well… not a guy sport.

I was mooning over the fence when a slip of a girl joined me. "You like can chasing?"

I leaned to one side to get a better look at this young girl when she stuck out her hand and said, "The name's Attie. Short for Annabel. Just call me Attie, everyone else does."

"I shook her hand and said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Attie. You live about here?" Attie was slim, five-four, boots, blue jeans, denim shirt and a straw hat.

"Next ranch down," she nodded in the general direction with her head. I got the idea. Then she added, "My dad does the announcing here. Been doing it for ever, so I come along." I looked up and noticed a face looking down at me and his daughter. She continued,"You must be O.G. from the Circle O Ranch." I must have looked surprised because she added, "You're the new kid on the block. Everyone knows your face and who you are."

"Everyone?"

"Yep. Anything new everyone knows pretty fast. If you do something stupid, it is best to tell it first. Sort of get your side of the story out first before someone else does it for you."

Thinking about Attie's father I added, "Like you and me."

"Yep. I bet by tomorrow morning we will be talked about over every breakfast table from here to there."

"You not worried?" I asked.

"Nope. I'm sixteen and no longer jail-bate. And too young for you."

"So why talk to me?" I wondered.

Looking up at her father, she said, "Someone has to make sure you mix it up about here."

"Mix it up… what does that mean?"

"How the heck should I know, I'm only sixteen."

"Right." Was my very slow and drawn out reply.

After a while Attie said it was time for her to go and get ready for some can chasing. She was good, really good. So fluid, so pretty and she made it look so effortless.

Attie did not return and I had to get ready for my first real calf roping competition. I was hoping I wouldn't let Herr Fritz down. The tension in my stomach was starting to grab and twist my insides. Yep, I was nervous.

Attie's father made a big deal of announcing my name, that I was from the Circle O Ranch and that it was a joy and pleasure having someone from that ranch after so many years. The big build-up fell flat as I failed to live up to the announcement. I came out of the box just as I should spurring Blue and swinging the rope. I let loose and the rope sailed to the right of the calf. Not a good start. I got a no time.

Attie's father offered his condolences at my miss and announced that I was signed up for steer wrestling and that everyone should wait and see that.

I was tying up Blue when Attie came by and said, "Watch out, behind me, they are coming!" then quickly moved on. Heading my way were two drop-dead gorgeous girls. They were dressed very similar in fancy boots, tight fitting jeans and eye catching tight fitting shirts. I couldn't understand how the shirts stayed closed with all that dynamic tension on the buttons. Rounding out the look they had on little make-up and very complementary hats.

The first one said to me, "You must be O.G., I'm Crystal." With that introduction I received a most generous hug. The second one girl had to tap the first on the shoulder to break the grip and said, "I'm Sapphire," And gave me another big hug. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Nothing like this had ever happened to me, as far as I could remember.

After an eternity I broke the hug and looked closely. "You must be the Jones girls," I guessed. They looked at each other, laughed and said in unison, "That's us."

Crystal asked, "How are you liking it so far?"

I really had not given it much thought. So I quickly said, "This is one neat place."

"Yea, we like it," was the noncommittal reply, "But down in Texas everything is bigger. You ever been to Texas?"

"No Ma'am" They both burst into giggles, I guess it was because of being called 'Ma'am.' Looking passed them I noticed two well built men heading our way at a quick pace. I was thinking trouble but they just stood close by cramping everyone's style. The two girls quickly became quiet once they knew who was about and soon excused them selves at which time the two muscle men left. "Interesting, very interesting," I thought.

My calf wrestling event came up and I did a respectable nine seconds I rode back over to the trailer and there was Attie sitting on the open gate.

"Why O.G.?" Attie asked, tipping her head to one side. I was a bit crestfallen. I was expecting a congratulations, or at least a 'not bad.' Oh well.

"Ever seen Phantom of the Opera?" I asked.

"What's that?"

"A play."

"Nope." Attie said quickly.

"Well you better. Why O.G.? You have to see the play."

"You not going to tell me?" she said with surprise.

"Nope. Some things are better learnt than told."

"That's not fair!"

"Darn right. Life ain't fair, I can guarantee that all the way to the bank." I was working on getting Blue into the trailer. I loosened his cinch and put on his halter. Blue was an easy loader. "Where's old man Jones sitting?"

"You want to see him?" Attie said in a surprised voice.

"Yea, I want to see him."

"What about?"

"Come along and see." Attie led me over to the better seats and there in the middle of a group of men sat old man Jones. You could tell he was the boss by the cut of his clothes, how the others treated and looked at him. I walked over, offering my hand, which he did not take, and said, "You must me Mr. Jones of this place." He did not reply but just looked at my face. He knew who I was and that was important to me. I let loose on him by saying, "I don't like the way you treat your guests here. I came here expecting to have a fair chance at the rodeo and meet people from the area. When I met your daughters I also met your sons who were rude and offensive. If you are having difficulties with your daughters lock them up and throw away the key. Don't expect me to fix your problems and don't send two pipsqueaks to do a man's job: I've seen better."

Someone chimed in, "And got shot." Yep, they have seen the YouTube tape.

"Yeh, I lived and the other soldier died to save your fat ass from more 9/11's Why don't you sign up, or don't you have the…"

"That's enough," said old man Jones in a quiet tone. After he surveyed the scene he added, "So you are the new ranch manager over at the Circle O Ranch."

"Yes Sir, I am."

"And from the army, I hear."

"Yes Sir, and damn proud of it."

"Handled yourself pretty good, I hear." Was his soft question.

"That's what I hear too."

"Pretty bold when on my turf." He said as some of his men started to gather about.

"Sir, this is America, not someone's turf. Too much blood has been spilt and there are brave young men still willing to sacrifice their lives for a higher calling. I have no desire to sit on your or my turf, as you call it. I want to live free in America because that is what the men fought and died for during the revolutionary battles. I don't want to see this house divided as it once was. Right now we have to be together and vigilant: there is one nasty SOB out there ready to do us harm."

"Bold words, son when you are outnumbered."

"What's the difference?" I said shrugging my shoulders, "Out gunned, outnumbered, out maneuvered… it's all the same to me. The army takes on all the dirty tasks and delivers."

"You are not from these parts, are you?"

"No Sir. I'm from Wilmington, Sir."

"Polite to. I like that."

"Army, Sir. They teach respect, Sir."

After a pause, old man Jones ended the conversation by saying, "I hope to see you next Saturday. You are a little wild with your swing. Need to tighten it up."

I smiled and replied, "Yes Sir."

I left old man Jones sitting in the bleachers watching the next event. I was sure he won't forget me in a hurry. With Blue loaded up I drove the truck the short distance back to the Circle O Ranch. As I drove the short distance, I reviewed my performance and made sure I handled myself properly. I didn't want this coming back to haunt me one day.

The next day, Sunday came early and I was dragging all the way through church. Bill did not ask me one question about the night's activities even though, I'm sure, he knew all about it.

The first repercussion came on the following Thursday evening at meal time. It was 7 o'clock and time for the evening meal. I had washed my hands and wandered over to the big house. When I walked in, there, as bold as brass, sat Attie.

Between last Saturday night and Thusday I had been digging about to find out just how much trouble I was in with Attie. I was lucky. I knew Bill would not say anything since I found out that he was in his mid twenties while Mary was a sweet sixteen year old when they got married. What is sweet for the goose was sweet for me!

With a big smile Attie said, "Hi O.G. I came over to see my Uncle Bill. Been ages since I dropped by, and he asked me to stay for a bite since it was meal time."

I was thinking this was more planned than accidental. "Good to see you Attie." Was my friendly reply, "How did you do last Saturday night? I missed the final score?"

"Came in third. Not bad. I can do better if I want to."

The general chit chat of the meal came and went as we ate and enjoyed each others company. I could tell Jose and Geraldo liked Attie by the way they stole glances at her and generally acted a bit more grown up. Guys can tell these things.

At the close of the meal Attie was ready. "Are you doing anything tomorrow night, O.G.?" Her voice sounded so innocent, but I knew better. She was after big game and had a big trap. I didn't know where the trap was and fell right in.

"No, I don't think so." I looked at Bill for help, he offered nothing.

"Good. I have two tickets to Phantom of the Opera over at Raleigh. You want to go?"

What was I going to say to Attie? Everyone at the table was stunned and looking at me. With no help I said the only answer I could, "Yes Ma'am, I'd love to go with you." I was done for!

Suddenly Mary entered the fray, "Oh, that's so nice of you Attie. O.G. needs to get out and enjoy life rather than stay here on the ranch so much. I just wish someone I know would think about doing something nice like that for me." Now the spotlight shone on Bill and it was his time to squirm. Mary continued, "It's been years since I have been to the theatre. We used to go when we were young and carefree. Now, when we are supposed to have plenty of time together, the ranch takes up more of his time. So we miss out on the few remaining golden times together."

Brightly Attie suggested, "Why don't you get tickets and we go as a foursome?"

Now it was Bill's time to glare at me. The sudden change in direction was not to his liking. Of course he said, "That sounds like a great idea." There was no enthusiasm in his voice. We rearranged schedules to make sure Bill and I were off for our trip to the theatre. Only having watched the movie I noticed the differences, but they were minor when compared to the play being a live production. Attie and Mary ate it up while Bill gave it a begrudged thumbs up.

Attie and I were sitting in the back of the Cadillac while Clint Black and the Orazimbo's were in the front. Quietly Attie asked, "Opera Ghost: that's you, right?"

"Yep, that's me."

"Does it bother you?"

"What? The name or the face?"

"Humm, I guess both." Attie said calmly. I liked Attie because she was not afraid to ask the questions that mattered.

"I guess it was a package deal: new person, new name and new face."

"Out with the old, and in with the new." Was Attie's comment.

"Sort of, something like that. The face sort of made it easy to fit in with O.G. and now it feels more comfortable than John."

"So it is O.G." Attie said then added, "I hope you get the girl in the end."

I smiled and added, "So do I." Attie rested her head on my shoulder and dozed off. I didn't move, I liked having a girl close by. I was beginning to see something in this boyfriend-girlfriend business after all. It was late when we dropped Attie off at her ranch and then reached ours.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10**

I had been doing a lot of reading on the cattle and horse herds. I had reviewed their blood lines and comparing them against other quality herds about the country. Trying to get a sense of where we were in the standings. I noticed there were some lines not in our cattle herd that could be beneficial.

There are two ways of introducing new genetics into the herd, any herd. Either you take the cow to the bull or use artificial insemination. After a long discussion with Bill, he was willing to go with my suggestions and go with AI. Now came the real work of putting the plan into action.

It was early March 1, 2008, when Bill dropped by my office. I was not expecting him as he always calls me on the cell phone. I was sitting at my desk replaying the YouTube video over and over again. I don't know how long he was standing at the office door watching me watching the video.

I must have jumped six inches out of the chair when he spoke, "That you on the right?" was his soft question.

Totally flustered I replied, "Bill, don't do that. You'll give me a heart attack creeping about." He nodded at the computer screen and after I gained my composure I said, "Yep, that's me on the right." I closed the screen while he studied his cowboy boots for a while, shuffling them one way and then the other. He did not then, or ever since, ask me questions about that video.

"I forgot to tell you something. Later on tonight Mrs. Bohannon will be getting several horses from her nephew up north. Seems they are shutting down their operation and want a place for their horses rather than sell them. Make sure they go to the back pasture as that's the only one with a good fence. Maybe we need to talk to her about fixing the other fences properly if she is going to run horses again.'

"Any mares?" I asked.

"Nope, all geldings, quarter horses except for one Arabian."

"I'll let Mrs. Bohannon know to call me when they get into the area so I am ready. I was planning on rodeoing tonight," I grinned and added, "Gotta do better than last week."

I fed Spot at the usual time of five and rode back to the office. There was always paper work to do. About eight in the evening I received the call from Mrs. Bohannon and took off on Blackie. I guess it was my army training that dictated I ride a black horse at night. I arrived At Mrs. Bohannon's ranch slightly before the pickup pulling a long trailer. In the pickup were two men, one old and one looking thin and pail. Then again the old man did not look much better. I told them to follow me and off I went toward the first fence. We worked our way across the fields to the back pasture. They pulled in and I slid off Blackie to open up the trailer. The old man slid round to help, but I had opened the back of the trailer and was pushing the horses out. I told him to hope back in and follow me back to the ranch house. They were going to spend the night and leave the following day. I opened and closed the gates all the way and gave them a friendly wave and was just about to turn Blackie for home when Mrs. Bohannon called out to me. I wheeled about and trotted over to her veranda where she was standing. She had a question. "Will you be feeding the horses?"

"Well ma'am, that pasture is about twenty five acres. That's plenty large enough to support the horses. We can add some hay every now and then, but to feed your horses, I think grass and hay would be good enough."

As we talked I noticed the two men had stopped walking our way. They were staring and talking quietly together in an animated way. Yep, the face, my face, still does that to strangers. I concluded the conversation with Mrs. Bohannon and headed home. As I rode home I wondered why some people can't see beyond the face. Then I laughed at myself. "The face is the window to the soul," I remembered from somewhere. Then I started to wonder if it was time to get plastic surgery and see what they could do to fix the face. Easy to think about, hard to do.

Attie was waiting for me at the usual spot I parked the truck and trailer at the Jones ranch. "New people?"

"Nope, just people dropping off horses."

"Oh yes, I remember."

I came to find out that Attie's father owned and ran the local tack and feed store as well as several grain silo's in the area. He also ran 'gossip central'. No wonder Attie was up on everything.

Then Attie changed thoughts and said, "We are going to try something different tonight. I think you are going in to too tight. I mean you are all tense and can't throw properly. You are all wound up and tight."

I looked at her in surprise. "Where did this come from?"

"Oprah. I saw the show yesterday."

"And???"

"So you sit here on the edge of the trailer and I'll give your shoulders a massage." Was her nonchalant reply.

"You serious?" I wanted to know.

"Look, you have nothing to loose since you have missed everything. Now sit down and lets give this a try."

I got Blue out of the trailer and sat on the back while Attie worked on my tense shoulders. I'm not sure about the old John Tyree, but this was the closest a girl has ever gotten to me. I was tense from work and never catching a rotten calf and now I had a girl rubbing her hands all over my shoulders and neck. Damn, it felt good. I could have sat there for ever and let her work her magic on me. After a long while Attie gave me a playful slap on the back, jumped down of the trailer and said, "Time to get some cans. You coming to watch?"

I looked at Attie carefully. Maybe this was the first time I really looked at her. I smiled and said, "Wouldn't miss it for the world." We walked off together. My fingers were twitching, not for a rope this time, but to hold her hand.

When it was my turn for calf roping it was Attie's turn to watch. As I trotted over to the box the opening bars from Phantom of the Opera came blasting out over the intercom. This was followed by Attie's father introducing me to the crowd and the fact that I had yet to rope a calf… ever in competition. The crowd whooped and cheered at that information. I had been set up and fell for it. Determined to do better, I mentally went over everything before I gave the nod. The calf shot out and I was right upon it in a matter of a few strides. The throw was perfect but the calf had taken a left turn and was not where the rope was. The crowd went wild: another miss and no time. I waved to the crowd as I slowly went out of the arena.

Attie had this innocent look on her face when I got back to the trailer. I slowly shook my head from side to side and had to laugh. This was some person. I got down off Blue, walked over to Attie, put my hands on either side of her face and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. She didn't move, nor did I. I kissed her again and she returned the kiss.

There was a cough from behind that caught us off guard. It was Crystal with daggers in her eyes. "My father would like to visit with you… now." Once delivered she wheeled round and marched off with steam coming out of her ears.

"You're in trouble now, mister," Attie said kindly as I put my arms around her. "Old man Jones is my uncle and you better see what he wants."

I let out a groan, and said, "Are you related to everyone about here?"

She pretended to think then said, "Just about." with a twinkle in her eye. She winked at me as I started to walk over to the stands were old man Jones was waiting.

"Jail bate," I muttered as I walked. Then I smiled and muttered, "Nope, just a girl saying to a boy…"

Old man Jones was sitting in the same seat wearing the same clothes. That's how it looked to me. "Come-on over and join me." He said pointing to a space near by. I sat down and kept quiet. I was sure I'd be off to jail any time soon. "Son, we have a problem," I had to bite my tongue to keep from admitting everything was my and not Attie's fault. "The local news station wants to come on over and do a piece on you and your calf roping. Seems your reputation is getting out of hand. I know you are trying your best, but have your thought of just quitting and working on steer wrestling? You're a whole lot better at that."

"Sir," I started of and stopped. I regrouped, "Sir, I appreciate your concern. I don't mean any disrespect to you and your family, but I mean to keep on trying until I get it at least once. If I can't rope here, then I'll find another place and keep on trying. Sir, I'm a soldier and soldiers don't quit."

"Son, I figured you would say that when I told them to come on over and film. They will be here in a couple of weeks to see you do your stuff. In the mean while, I suggest you put in some extra practice time. Maybe, just maybe, you'd get lucky and rope next week and they'd call it all off." He had no conviction in his voice, and let the sentence drift off.

"Yes Sir, I shall put in some extra time." Then I added, "The ranch has ordered a mechanical calf roping set-up and should be here soon."

"Good."

Seeing the interview was at and end, I said, "Good evening, Sir." And started to walk away.

I had taken four steps when old man Jones said, "Be careful, John. Just be careful." I tipped my hat and left.

I didn't see Attie the rest of the evening. After my steer wrestling event I loaded Blue up and left the Jones ranch about 2:15am. Putting everything in its proper place too me to about 3:30am before I hit the sack.

I was dragging badly in the morning, Sunday morning. I skipped breakfast to gain a little more sleep and then slept all the way to church. I was finally coming to about the time we hit the restaurant door. I was starting to feel a little peckish. I ordered my usual chicken fried stake with French fries and onion rings and we sat by the window to enjoy the view.

Over in the corner were the two men from last night. I noticed them immediately as they followed me with their eyes from the time I walked in until the time I sat down. I leaned over and asked Bill if he knew who they were. Casually he looked round. "Nope, can't say I do." His glance caused the two men to stop looking this way and we settled down to a quiet meal and a discussion on the sermon of the day.

When we arrived back at the ranch Bill asked if we could talk. We headed over to my office as it was away from prying ears. He started of tentatively by saying, "It is none of my business, but I am hearing things…"

"If you are hearing things, I'm pretty sure they are true."

The look on Bill's face said it all. "But…" was all he could say.

"Yep I like her, and I think she likes me."

"Of course she likes you. Any fool can see that. She adores you and that's the problem."

"What's the problem? That she likes me?" was my puzzled reply.

"When I said 'people over twenty-seven are a menace to society' I didn't mean for you to go out and start dating the first girl that comes along…"

I cut in quickly, "I'm not dating Attie."

"Maybe not in name, but in every other way. How often do you see her through the week? Every day, just about: and several times over the week end. You see her more than most men see their wives!"

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing if she was in her twenties." The minute Bill said that we both knew he had lost the argument. He tried to regroup but to no avail. Sixteen was a legal age in North Carolina. I had no intention of proving the point just yet even though I liked Attie a lot: okay, more than a lot.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11**

On Thursday, March 13, 2008, I took a few days off to travel to Wilmington to pick up my Harley. The US Government had finally shipped my bike State side. I traveled to Wilmington by bus and took a taxi to the storage shed in the dock area. Once I signed the forms, she was all mine again. With insurance in my wallet I was ready to be independent.

The first place I wanted to see was my old home, the place where it all started, the place where I lived for so many years with my father. I parked outside and got off the Harley. Standing there I was overwhelmed by the temporary state of our lives. For twenty years I called this place home, and now nothing. No memories, no recollection, no nothing.

Seeing this was my old neighborhood I did the next logical thing, I knocked on the neighbors houses. No reply on one side and the door on the other side opened. The lady standing there put both hands to her mouth in surprise when she saw me. "John, is that you John? You look so…" the words trailed off as she stared at me. The face was still a factor. "Come on in and sit. What are you doing back here? You look so different." Here voice hovered about the word 'different' as if held by some magical spell. I think she was trying to say different as in 'boy-oh-boy, are you different!' but was too polite to say so.

I said, Thank you. Ma'am." And walked in to her messy house.

Once we sat down I got in the first word, "Because of the war, I had a bad accident and have amnesia. I can remember nothing from before the accident." I paused for it to sink in. "I know I lived next door. I know that from the files, not from memory. I am hoping you can help."

With eyebrows raised and eyes ready to pop out she said, "You don't know me then?"

I looked at her apologetically and replied, "Sorry, absolutely nothing."

"Oh…" was the crestfallen reply, "Then you remember nothing about your father?"

"That's why I am going from house to house to see if there is anyone who can fill in the gaps."

The neighbor gave a short laugh, "The gap for would take years to tell. You were all your father had and all he lived for. Such a kind person and so willing to help…" She went on for hours telling story after story about my father and I. I loved and reveled in each story. As the night wore on, we came to the time we had to call it quits. I had to get to the Youth Hostel where I was staying the night. She promised to write and tell me more as there were many things she knew she had not covered and thought I would like to know. Such as the story of the stink bomb in first grade…

The next day, Friday, I had an early morning meeting with the lawyer William Benjamin at his office. He had a very nice office with a smartly dressed receptionist who directed me to take a seat while she checked to see if he was in. He was and took me back to his office. I thanked him profusely for his time and patience, and then I put all my cards on the table. Benjamin was intrigued with my simple case and wanted to tie up the few loose elements for me by calling Tom Goodman, coin dealer in Raleigh, NC. Benjamin tracked down Goodman's cell phone number and called. Goodman was at home eating breakfast. Benjamin put Goodman on the speaker phone then went through my story and explaining why we were calling.

"John. I'm sorry about your father," said Goodman, "He was always a pleasure to visit with. Knew his coins did he. Always on top of his game. Patient and willing. I liked that. Then when you called asking me to sell the Tyree collection, well, such an honor and privilege. Not often I am asked to sell such an extensive collection. Caused quite a stir in these parts, I can tell you. As I said in my letter, I think we could have made at least ten percent more. But your instructions were clear and so I sold the lot for you. Like I said, quite a stir in these parts."

It was time for me to ask the big question, "What happened to the money?

"You came by and we went to the bank here in town. You got a cashier's cheque made out for the full amount…"

"Full amount," I blurted out.

"Yes, John, for the full amount." Was the reply. There was a pause.

"What happened then?" I had to ask.

"You walked out of the bank and drove off. That's what happened. Nothing until now when you called: except for a lady asking questions about the Tyree collection."

"Lady?"

"Yep, some lady, a couple of months ago called asking questions about the coins. Wanted to know why it was called the Tyree collection. I just played dumb. I think she already knew, just wanted confirmation. She has never called back."

I was still struggling with a cashier's cheque for such a large amount. All that money, all gone… poof.

Benjamin was watching my face and reading me pretty well. He knew the conversation was over, "Mr. Goodman, I appreciate your time with us this morning. As you can see, there is some distress between the money and the loss of memory. If something, anything comes to you, please call me at this number."

"There was one thing," Goodman added, "Time was pressing. I got the impression that things had to be done quickly. I don't think it had to do with you going back to Germany: something else. Only an impression, mind you, But I think I could say I felt it had to be done quickly. Sorry I can't be any more help." With that another door closed. I was frustrated. I could not understand why the old John Tyree was so secretive. I thanked Benjamin for his time and left his office so he could get back to real work. Before I left, Benjamin gave me cause to worry, he said the Lenoir National Bank was in financial trouble because of the problems on Wall Street and more than lightly be taken over by the Bank of North Carolina. What that meant, he did not know.

I was not to sparkey when I arrived at my nest stop, the main library of Wilmington. I assumed, correctly, that the library would have old yearbooks and current telephone directories. In the reference section was a long line of Wilmington High School books. I found the 1995 yearbook and sat down to read it. Before I started at page one, I flipped to the senior class photos and found my old face. At age eighteen I was young and innocent looking. I ran my finger over the face wanting something to come back, something to connect me with my years at the high school. Sadly, nothing: just an unfulfilled desire. I flicked back to page one and started reading.

I had bought a digital camera and took photos of the junior and senior photos. It seems my graduating class was two hundred and fifty one strong. I quickly realized that was too many to call so I made some strategic decisions. Since I was white I cut out all the blacks, Hispanics and other ethnic kids. That cut the numbers down to one hundred and seventy five male and female kids. I quickly planned the next move, but would need my laptop to locate the houses on Mapquest and find the nearest people to my old house. That I could do back at the ranch. Assuming the closest was my best friend, I planned to start calling in that order. Call and see where it would go. With that decided, I kept moving.

Time was running out and I still had one more place to go. I roared off heading down to the beach. I wanted to see the pier that I thought I recognized in one of the old photos. I roared down 17 and 74 and onto Wrightsville Beach. I motored over to the main public parking lot where I noticed several other Harleys neatly parked out of the regular traffic pattern. I parked with them out of a sense of brotherhood.

I took off my helmet and drew in the salt air. There was something about this place that felt good. I did not know what that feeling was, but it was there, and I could feel it. I was having a hard time trying to distinguish between the fun of being on a beach and an old memory moving about trying to get out. I needed to relax, so I sat on my Harley, closed my eyes and let out all my tension.

Coming to my mind were flashes of the beach, the surf and the pier… of the three, the pier seemed more imminent: but that didn't make any sense. Oh well, I got up and started to walk to the pier. From the start of the pier I stopped and turned around to look at the land side and all the fancy houses. Absolutely nothing.

I walked slowly along the pier all the way to the end. At the end I lent over the railing, looking into the ocean. I was slowly moving with the wave action in a slow motion. Sort of feeing the water and its motion from the pier. I had to smile at my unrehearsed actions. "Something there." I said to myself. Since I didn't bring any beach ware I did not go on to the beach, just wandered about the shops. The shop I was after was one that would rent long surf boards during the summer. I had plans to come back and try my hand at surfing. Maybe it would bring something back.

When I wandered back to my Harley, the other motor bike riders were getting ready to head out. When they saw me they all shut down and wanted to talk. They had noticed the German license plates and some slight modifications to make the bike compliant with German laws. Rather than talk in the middle of a parking lot we rode over to a fish place to eat and chat. No one reacted to my face, I guess bikers have seen bad faces either through falls or fights. The lack of reaction made me feel good.

It seems this group were known as the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters as they only rode in good weather and usually met at this beach. They had jobs ranging from a sky diver instructor all the way to a bank manager. I offered the sanitized version of myself. I omitted the bit about amnesia: no one needed to know that fact.

Their first official ride to the beach would be the weekend before spring break. I was invited, and accepted the invitation to ride with this group. I was excited, I was really excited. But right now I had to head back to the ranch and get back to work. Then I thought of Attie, and smiled a deep satisfying smile.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

I had been pestering the army for further information about my reserve obligations ever since I returned from Germany. No matter who I called, I got the same blank response of, "Wait for you papers in the mail." It was a Monday when they finally arrived. The papers stated that I have been medically discharged from the army with an honorable discharge. The papers went on to list what was available to me and how to get assistance from the various agencies that were now available to me. Nothing about reserves of sniper school. One door had closed quietly behind me. I knew I would miss the army, and now I had to face the future with out them.

As that door closed another opened. My old neighbor had started sending short letters to me. Something she remembered that she thought I would like to know. Mostly short stories about my father and myself. I suppose they could be called vignettes into my past. I enjoyed them and tried to recall that memory, but it was not there: pity. In mid March she sent me a newspaper cutting informing the local Wilmington readers that there will be a gathering of the Wilmington High School graduating class of 1995. The gathering will be held at the gymnasium on June 7, 2008. I marked it down on my calendar, I planned to be there.

I still had not done any yearbook chasing. I had the names and I could look up telephone numbers through the Internet, it was a matter of time. I was running out of time to sit down and do it. Between work on the ranch, research into cattle and horse genetics, trying to work out where to start showing the cows, and a myriad of other details kept me busy. On top of all that I was loved rodeoing a bit too much. The love had turned to passion and I looked forward to steer wrestling starting first thing Monday morning and was not satisfied until Saturday night when I got to do it. Calf roping was starting to get a little thin. I still had not roped my first calf, and I was not going to quit until I got at least one.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 13**

March 21, 2008 was the full moon date. I had started to ride over to Knowles Rise for the full moon. As the name implies, it is a rise in the ground and offers a good view of the surrounding farms. It was an easy ride from the Circle O Ranch or from Mrs. Bohannon's place. With the full moon you stood out like a ghost rider of olden days. I never told Attie or anyone else what I did on full moon nights, or where I was going. It was too personal and no one would believe me anyway. Sitting on Blackie in the full moon, I would gaze up into the sky and try and place the 'Sky at Night' Internet map with the real sky at night. Every now and then I could see the Milky Way and wonder if that one girl for the old John Tyree was looking and seeing the same thing. It was a hope, a slim hope to the past.

From the top of Knowles Rise I looked down over all of Mrs. Bohannon's place and could see the horses moving about and the lights flick off as she shut down for the night. The Circle O Ranch had more lights on: then again there were more people and work going on.

On March 29, 2008, the local news crew arrived on schedule and I didn't disappoint. I missed yet again. My fifteen minutes of fame was a sort of boost to the Saturday night rodeo at the Jones Ranch. More people started to come and that meant a later night for us participants. No one minded as it was the only time we could let off steam. The steer I wrestled that night was tough and caught my shirt and bruised by side. Attie was upset while the film crew loved the action and a good quality near miss. "Good for ratings," the sound man said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14**

On April 1, 2008, Bill called me on my cell phone and gave me the sad news that Mrs. Bohannon's nephew had finally succumbed to cancer and had died peacefully last night. Mrs. Bohannon was asking if I could drive her to the funeral up in Lenoir. I immediately said yes. I wanted to visit the bank and ask about a certain account number. I knew the frontal approach was not too smart, but if I didn't ask, then I'd never know.

The funeral was set for April 4, at 10am so we decided to drive up the evening before and got rooms at the local motel.

We traveled in Mrs. Bohannon's white Cadillac. The drive was long and quiet, Mrs. Bohannon was not talkative at the best of times. I wanted to put Country and Western music on, but thought better of it. We pulled in to the motel about 7:30pm and got settled in. Mrs. Bohannon called her nephew's wife and made arrangements to visit with her that evening. I declined to join in: not family and not properly dressed for mourning. I flicked on the TV and relaxed with a couple cans of beer.

I dropped Mrs. Bohannon off at the church with plenty of time to spare. I had a 10am appointment with the bank manager of the Lenoir Branch of the Bank of North Carolina. I was on time and after he got over my face he led me into a cold looking office with nothing but a desk and two chairs. After the usual pleasantries I got down to business.

I had rehearsed my lines to myself several times so they sounded plausible. I produced the various documents from my father's probate showing the house sale, my instructions and the transfer of funds to Lenoir.

The manager was sharp. He knew where I was going, "I take it, you would like to know to person who owns this account?"

"Yes Sir." I replied a little too quickly.

"It hardly seems plausible that you could transfer so much money and loose the name." was his cautious reply.

His assumption of my loss was correct and I had nothing to rebut with, so I defaulted back to the army way of punting. "It may seem strange to you, but not to me. I was very busy in the army at the time and moving about the desert: things got lost."

"Ah, army… I see." Subconsciously the bank manager's fingers traced out similar scars on his face. "Let me see what I can do." With that he stepped out.

I stood up and went over to the window and looked out at the small town of Lenoir, North Carolina. It had a pleasant look to it. The sort of place you would want to raise your children. It had a safe look about it. My train of thoughts was broken when the manager stepped back in.

"Mr. Tyree, I have spoken to headquarters… as you know we were recently taken over and I have to review policy with headquarters. You know; new boss, new rules. Headquarters is saying I am not allowed to divulge personal information on any current or former accounts. I know we all think information is only a click away, but there are certain federal laws that prohibit this type of action. Sorry, my hands are tied."

In all reality, I knew this was what I should have been expecting, but hope springs eternal. I gathered up the papers and put them back in the large manila envelope. I put out my hand and said in a very flat voice, "Thank you Sir. I appreciate your help and understand you are only doing your job. It has been a pleasure."

I sat in the local café waiting for a call from Mrs. Bohannon to pick her up after the family meal. I was not hungry; I was too busy drowning my sorrows in a stale cup of poor quality coffee. I was not upset at the bank manager, I was upset at the stupid system that kept blocking my every move. I needed time to figure out something… another way… another approach.

The call came at 2pm to collect Mrs. Bohannon from the church hall where the meal was served. I had thought it would be a quick funeral and a slow meal, but not this slow. As the matriarch of the family Mrs. Bohannon was required to kiss and hug everyone possibly connected through every branch of the tree. I had never seen someone given so many hugs and kisses. I was getting worn out just watching and wondering when it would all end! Finally she headed over to the car. Being the gentlemen that I am, I hopped out and opened the car door for her. She actually gave me a smile as she carefully sat in the front. Then I heard a couple gasps go out. Yep, someone had seen the face that only a Phantom would love to have.

As we pulled away Mrs. Bohannon asked, "John, does that bother you?"

I studied the road in front. I did not want to miss the right road out of town. "Ma'am, with you and my other friends, nope. With strangers, yes."

"I see you have your work cut out changing strangers into friends."

"Yes Ma'am, I do."

I glanced down at the paper she had placed between the two of us, it said, 'Funeral Services for Timothy "Tim" Wheddon 1979 – 2007' I commented, "Younger than me."

"Sadly yes… He was blessed in so many ways. He left behind a wife with two young children, twins, a boy and a girl; John and Georgia. I really don't know how they will manage."

"They?"

"I meant, she will manage. They were running a horse riding stable for handicapped children. In fact Tim's brother is handicapped. With Tim gone, she can't manage her children and him. Just too much. I think the family is going to put him into a home. She is so upset by it all. What can one person do?"

That was a good point, 'what can one person do…' Then I asked, "Doesn't she have any family to help out?"

"Oh, yes. Her parents live right over the road: no siblings through. Her parents are like me, getting on in years and not able to do all that we used to do. With two young toddlers running about, you need to be young and fit, not old and gray." There was sadness in her voice and a worried look on Mrs. Bohannon's face.

"I thought the horses at your place were theirs?" I asked after a while.

"Hum, that's right. They were shutting down their operation. Tim's health deteriorated pretty quickly and he was not responding to any treatment. In the end he stopped taking any drugs. He said what the doctors were doing was worse then the disease. He'd rather live a few days of quality time at home, with his family, than suffer for a few extra weeks in a hospital room away from those who he loved. So they gave him a morphine pump and sent him home. He died with his wife and children about him."

The drive got quiet after that. We both did a lot of thinking on the road home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

The week before Spring break 2008 I headed over to Wilmington. I spent Friday night at the Youth Hostel and was ready for a fun filled day at Wrightsville Beach . I met up with all the members of the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters Riding Club. There were at least thirty members all ready for the beach. The throaty noise that a group of Harley Davidson's make is something special. We met out of town and made a grand entrance through the streets all the way to the beach.

We picked a spot close to the pier and the shops, threw down our stuff and started to enjoy the beach. It was a busy time as there were members renewing old friendships, stories being told, beer to drink and girls to look at. There was no leader; it was just an eclectic group of people held together by a common love of having and riding a Harley.

Since I still had on the German plates I was peppered with questions and I dived in to the subtle differences between my and American versions of the same model.

By far I had the most tattoos. It was a talking point. Once the people knew I was ex-army, there was the usual, "Oh," and the conversation carried on. I still made sure I had on a good baseball hat. I was very self conscious of the two unseen scars.

Finally temptation got the better of me and I rented a long surf board and headed into the waves. While at the shop I ran through the surfing instructions with the kid running the place: instructions I should have known but couldn't remember.

I was not afraid as I paddled out into the sea. Nervous, but not afraid. The kid said it was all a matter of timing. Timing to catch the wave at the right time. Before I tried, I stayed out a while looking at the kids zooming by me. Looking at what they were doing. Deep inside, I knew I could do this. I knew I had done it in the past. Where and how, I didn't know.

I wanted to take it a bit easy so I started with a small wave close in. I stood there holding the board and when a decent wave came, I gave the board a shove and jumped on, lying on my stomach. I zoomed right in. Yep, it felt good and I knew I could do more. The next wave I caught further out and came in on my knees. Everything felt fine so I went for the big one. I paddled out where the serious surfers were sitting and waiting. I made sure I was out of their way and started to concentrate on the wave patterns. I picked one, started butterfly paddling, caught the wave and rode all the way in to the beach. Damn, I was impressed with myself!

Taking a break I pulled the board up the beach and went for a sandwich and a soda. Two guys asked if they could borrow the board and show Heather how to ride small waves. I said sure and sat back to watch the antics of two guys trying to impress one of the best built females I had ever seen.

Heather on a Harley is quite a site. Heather in a black bikini takes the saying, 'quite a site' to a whole different level. The only other girl that could hold a candle to Heather was the Girl from Ipanema. Of course I noticed Heather. How could you not notice Heather from the minute she took off her helmet. I also noticed no marriage ring. Once I knew Heather lived on a yacht in Charleston, South Carolina I knew I had a dogs chance and let out a long sigh.

The minute Heather stepped into the water it was obvious she could not swim. It was the way she moved and reacted to the waves as she went in to the water. She seemed to fight rather than go with the waves, natural like. I started to wonder, "Why live on a yacht if you can't swim?" The two guys were moving out into the water while talking to Heather. I could see their chit chat helped. But… They were going to start her off with Heather on her stomach, just like me. They got into a good position and helped Heather get ready. When a good wave came they pushed her off and told her to paddle hard. "Not bad," I thought as I studied her form. Then, in a split second, she went from being on top of the board to under the waves. The two guys could not see her too clearly and failed to react quickly. I jumped up and ran into the water, jumping waves and dove head first into the spot I figured Heather would be. With my arms outstretched I made contact with her and grabbed an arm and pushed off the bottom with my feet. We were not in deep water but Heather had froze.

When we hit the surface panic set in and she tried to climb all over me to get out of the water. I had to make a choice between my and her survival: I chose my survival. I ducked under the water pushing her up and away from me. I quickly surfaced and could see Heather going back under. This time I approached her fast and pushed her grabbing hands away and wrapped my arm over her shoulder and chest. Doing the side stroke I started to come in slowly. At least the waves were pushing us in. I swam all the way in until my side was scraping the bottom. Then I let Heather go. She quickly turned over, grabbed me by the neck and started to sob in a violent and uncontrollable way. Shock was setting in. Hating to do it I slapped Heather hard on the face to force her eyes to focus and for her to snap together. In the distance I could hear the wine of an ambulance heading our way. I was glad the cavalry was coming to save the day.

The EMT men were very eager to help Heather get into the ambulance so they could monitor her vital signs. Once in a stable environment Heather settled down and, after a while insisted she was fine and able to get home safely. I was hanging about the back of the ambulance listening to everything. I offered Heather my hand as she stepped out of the ambulance. She stepped down and gave me a hug and said a simple , "Thank you."

I could feel my face turning red with embarrassment while the guys from the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters Riding Club were turning green.

From that point on Heather never left my side while we were at the beach. She trusted no one. If I sat down, Heather sat right next to me. If I moved, Heather moved. If I went for a soda from the vending machine, Heather was right next to me. The only time she was not next to me was when I was out surfing. Then she would sit right by the waters edge looking hard after me and talking to no one. Once I came in from surfing, she was right there next to me.

However, the minute we left the beach and the immediate area about the beach, all I saw was her dust.

Despite the very odd relationship, Heather is why I became a regular member of the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters Riding Club and went on every beach trip. I enjoyed having the best looking girl for miles around. Even if we never really talked.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

On Saturday, May 17, 2008, it was my turn to feed Spot. I did the two usual feeds and then headed over to the Jones Ranch for an evening of fun and rodeoing. It was one of the better ones and went on a little too long. I hit the sack about 4am on Sunday morning and set my alarm for seven. "Three hours of sleep is not good enough, what the heck," was what I thought as I fell asleep fast.

The alarm of 7am sounded disgustingly early. Still in my Saturday night clothes I struggled to focus my eyes. Slowly life was returning as I drove the short distance to Mrs. Bohannon's ranch. I parked over by the barn and sort of stumbled to the house to let her know I was here and getting ready to feed Spot. My usual yell went something like, 'Hello Mrs. Bohannon. It's O.G. here to feed Spot.' And when I left I'd yell something like, 'Hello Mrs. Bohannon. It's O.G. here, I've fed Spot and now I'm off.'

I opened the kitchen door and started to yell, "Hello Mrs. Bohannon. It's O.G. here to feed Spot" but only made it to "Hello Mrs. Bohannon…" when I caught sight of a lady in her pajamas with rollers in her hair carrying the remains of breakfast back into the kitchen. I did not recognize her and, obviously, she didn't recognize me because she let out one of the loudest screams I have ever heard, and, at the same time, dropped the tray she was carrying.

All that noise scared the heck out of me, so I yelling, "Shit!" and took off fast to the safety of the barn. As I ran I reached for my cell phone and called Rose at the county command center letting her know a 911 call might be coming in from Mrs. Bohannon's place. As I was running and talking, Rose said a call was just coming through from Mrs. Bohannon and that she would take care of it. I fed Spot in record time and got out of there fast. While driving back to the ranch I called Bill and let him know what had happened. Not surprisingly, Mrs. Bohannon had already called asking for my head on a platter.

I took a much needed shower, changed and we took off to church. I really don't remember too much of the morning, I dozed through most of it.

Somehow, by the time we entered the Farmer's Stockade Restaurant for our Sunday lunch, the story was out. I received some polite ribbing about needing a police escort to feed Spot that evening. I didn't feed, Bill did.

When he got back to the ranch he sat me down and politely went over the story as told by the other side. "Son, I have never met a person for finding hornet's nests like you. You seem to attract attention like bees to honey. We are going to have to fix you somehow." There was heavy emphasis on the word 'fix' that I didn't like. He continued in a serious tone, "You have just about scared the heebie-jeebies out of old Mrs. Bohannon and she is looking to sue as she felt a heart attack coming on. As for Mrs. Wheddon, you have embarrassed the heck out of her. In her PJ's and rollers…" Bill could not keep a straight face any longer; slowly the chuckle he had been working hard to suppress came out. "Okay… okay. Yes, I wish I was there. But I was not and this has to be taken seriously. You can not go on like this…"

"What! It's my fault again?" I could not believe what I was hearing. I wasn't going to take this lying down so I countered with a good argument, "Didn't I give the usual yell? Didn't I do everything she asked me to do? Didn't I behave like a gentleman and get the lot out of there once everything hit the floor? Come on Bill, don't lay this one at my feet… that just ain't fair!"

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. Anyway, the story is this. It seems Mrs. Bohannon had invited her nephew's widow, Mrs. Wheddon, and her children down for a sort of vacation. They drove in on Saturday and parked their car in the garage, which Mrs. Bohannon never does. So I guess you walked into a trap not of your making, but… but Mrs. Bohannon is not too happy with you about this."

"Tough patookies to her." Was my cheep comment.

"I'll work on her. In the meanwhile, stay out of her way and out of any trouble, if you can." Just before I left the room, Bill asked, "How's Attie?"

"Fine. Why ask?"

"I think her father is planning to send her away to summer camp or something like that."

"Me?"

"Son, trouble is your middle name. Of course it is about you. You two are the worst fixture about here in ages."

"I haven't done anything," I protested. "I'm an innocent bystander in the theatre of life."

"Bullshit son, pure bullshit: and you know it. She is sixteen…"

"Just about to turn seventeen," I added in quickly as if one year makes a difference.

"She is still sixteen and you are… lets just say, you are old."

"And a menace to society." I added.

"Exactly. And Attie's father doesn't want a menace in the family."

"Who's talking about marriage? Not me or Attie." That worried me. Has someone been talking about Attie and me getting married?

"No one has gotten a license from the county clerk, not yet, that is. And it they did we would know pretty fast! But you have to watch your step. How come you haven't hooked up with old man Jones' girls? They are fine looking and closer to your age?"

"I think Attie scared them off ages ago." I said with pride in my voice.

In this world there are conspiracies and then there is just misfortune. I had been trying hard to bump in to Crystal or Sapphire, I didn't care which one, for ages. You know, you make plans because you hear something; or go somewhere because you hear this or that. I had been scheming and trying ever since I first met the Jones girls. Somehow nothing worked. I was sure there was a conspiracy to keep me away from the two lovely girls.

"Well un-scare them while Attie is away at camp," Came the terse reply. "And while you are at it, get ready to apologize to Mrs. Bohannon. She will be expecting it. Do it quickly and not later."

My mouth opened and closed several times, and said nothing. I was getting tired of eating humble pie all the time.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008, was full moon. I saddled up Blackie about 9:30 pm and wandered about the farm as I made my way up to Knowles Rise. Life was moving along at a hectic pace. Work was piling up and my social life was going in every direction. Only Attie was the black spot on the horizon. I had not seen her for the past two days. I had put it down to exams at school. Maybe it was something else: so I called her. My calls went straight to voice mail. That was not like Attie, she was very good an answering the phone.

Attie and I had grown close. I enjoyed having her about all the time. We had common interests and hobbies. We supported each other in what we did and how we did it. We were the other's cheering squad and shoulder when things did not go right. We meshed tightly. The soft spot I had for Attie was large and growing larger all the time. The bottom line was, we make a darn good pair.

The moon was rising nicely and casting its reflected light over the country side. Everything looks so different in moonlight. I was sitting on Blackie when I noticed the kitchen light come on in Mrs. Bohannon's kitchen. Then the back door opened and out slipped a figure. The figure had on a robe. She walks across the porch and down the steps and into the yard. Suddenly she looks behind. Was it a noise or just checking the door? Slowly she stretches her arms and then folds them across her chest. Then she turns her face to the moon. I can see her relax while the moon light covers her. Gently she rolls her head from side to side. It's like she is drinking in the rays, or pulling in memories. Then she turns and walks back to the porch steps where she stops, sits down and stretches out her legs. With her legs outstretched she strokes her stomach in a gentle circular motion. Slowly she gets to her feet, takes one last look at the moon and goes back into the house. The lights snap off and Mrs. Bohannon's house is totally dark. She was outside for about ten minutes.

I sat on Blackie for a good while trying to understand what I had just witnessed. I was puzzled and confused. Who was Mrs. Wheddon? Who was she? Blackie reminded me it was time to go so I lifted the reigns and off he moved. Just as I was leaving the top of Knowles Rise came the clear commanding cry of a young child. Lights came on in the Bohannon house and someone must have picked up the crying child because the sobs slowly subsided.

On Friday, May 30, 2008, I made it a point to feed Spot in the evening. I called Mrs. Bohannon saying I'd be coming over and would like a few minutes. Her voice was not as gruff as I was expecting when she agreed to see me after feeding time. "Odd," I thought, "Very odd."

I rode Blackie as usual. He was getting so used to the ride, I felt he could take me between the two ranches without me doing anything except to say 'go'. I tied Blackie up in the barn and then sauntered across to the house. I stomped my feet as I walked across the veranda. Adding emphasis I knocked on the door before I opened it and gave my customary yell of being there to feed Spot. There was no reply. I wanted to pop into the living room to see if the over-and-under was still in the rifle cabinet: but I thought better of it. I didn't want to be accused of trespassing so Mrs. Bohannon had a legitimate reason to shoot me dead!

Spot was one big spoiled gelding. He was a chestnut brown with a white star on the forehead. Even through he was never ridden, Mrs. Bohannon could not live with out a horse to fuss over. Horses get into your blood and stays there. I figured there was a special place in heaven for horses and their doting owners. I fed, put hay out and checked the water. It really is a five minute job, I stretched it out to fifteen. Trying to kill time before the execution. Mrs. Bohannon made me nervous.

Putting on a brave appearance, I walked beck to the house and gave my customary yell to let her know I was finished and asked permission to come on in. I got as far as, "Mrs. Bohannon…" when Mrs. Bohannon came flying into the kitchen waving her hands at me and saying in a loud voice to be quiet. It seems the children were asleep. I always thought Mrs. Bohannon could not move very fast: I was wrong, very wrong.

"Be quiet, O.G. and come on in to the living room." She said fiercely.

I tip-toed across the kitchen, down the hall and to the door leading into the living room. I didn't want my spurs jangling away. As I was tip-toeing about I was thinking it was a good thing I didn't get the fancy Jingle Bobs I was looking at on the Internet. Sitting by the empty fire place was Mrs. Bohannon and Mrs. Wheddon.

Since I had not been introduced to Mrs. Wheddon, I tipped my hat and said, "Ma'am," and then turned to Mrs. Bohannon. I took a deep breath and started. "Ma'am, I really must apologize for the other night. I didn't know you had company, if I did, I would have just called." Giving a quick glance to Mrs. Wheddon, I asked, "Hopefully no harm done, Ma'am?"

The two ladies said nothing so I started to look at my worn boots. Yep it was time to get them resoled, the stitching had come loose and I was getting free ventilation. Since no one was saying much, I said, "Then I'll be off." I looked at Mrs. Bohannon and then Mrs. Wheddon. They didn't move or say anything.

Feeling embarrassed I was just about to leave when Mrs. Wheddon said very quickly, "Take a seat."

I really didn't want to stay so I lied, "Ah, Ma'am, I really gotta go. There is a pile of work I have to attend to…" I was looking at Mrs. Wheddon for the first time. She was sitting on the edge of her chair with her hands lying on her lap. Her wedding ring was still there. I could see the ware and tare of a mother with two children and a third on the way. I think I knew she was pregnant when I saw her the other night under the full moon. She was a brunette with short hair. I've always associated short hair with mothers and my theory was proven right again.

Once upon a time, I'm sure Mrs. Wheddon was cute, slim and very interesting to know. Now, she was putting on weight, working diapers and chasing after two other kids. I gave a small shudder and took a seat on the other side of the room.

"Not there, come over here so we can see you," demanded Mrs. Bohannon.

"Yes, Ma'am" And got up and tip-toed over to a closer chair.

"How are you doing O.G.?" asked Mrs. Bohannon. The quick change of tone put me on guard.

Carefully I replied, "Fine." I didn't want to give too much away.

"And the ranch?"

"Fine."

"Any problems with Spot?"

"Nope."

"Anything you concerned about with Spot?"

"Nope." I think she was running out of questions. I was wrong, there is always one more.

"Going to rodeo tomorrow?"

"Yes Ma'am," I put too much pride into my reply.

"You rodeo?" Mrs. Wheddon asked in a surprised tone.

"Yes Ma'am, I do."

"What events?" Mrs. Wheddon was picking up the questioning.

"Calf roping and steer wrestling," Again I put too much pride in my voice. A smile spread across her face. For an instant I saw the younger version of Mrs. Wheddon. She was pretty. The smile stayed longer than I expected so I asked, "What's so funny?"

"I just can't imagine you in a rodeo. It's so different…" Her voice trailed off into some far place that I did not recognize.

"So different, what?" I asked.

"Oh, I mean, so different type of sport than the army." The minute I heard the work army I thought to myself, "Yep, people have already told her stories and I expect she has seen the YouTube video a thousand times and is feeling sorry for me."

I wanted out; I wanted to be out and away. I was tired of people talking about me behind my back as if I was a side show at the circus. I just wanted to be me and not an exhibit. Quickly I got to my feet and said, "Ma'am, I really have to be going. It is getting dark and I have a ways to go." I quickly tipped my hat to the two ladies and left. I walked out of the house with spurs jangling away. Sitting on Blackie I realized my exit was wrong, all wrong. "Oh, shit!" I yelled out. Somehow I always seem to get it wrong. The only safe place seemed to be with Attie at the rodeo.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

Saturday, May 31, 2008 was a warm and muggy night. Attie was waiting for me as I pulled into my usual location in the parking lot. She had been crying about something. I guessed her father was putting his foot down and trying to find a way to split us up. I killed the engine and Attie went to the back of the trailer to let Blue out. I came round the trailer and slid my arms around her. She tied up Blue and then turned around and put her arms around me and held on for dear life.

In a small muffled voice she muttered, "Dad is sending me away to Aunt Alice's place in Oregon. She's a distant relative that absolutely no one has seen in ages and it is not fair!"

If I remember correctly, Oregon is a heck of a way from North Carolina. My heart sank. There was no way I could ever visit. "Does she have a phone?" I asked gently.

"Yes, and I'll have my cell phone. Unless Dad confiscates it."

"Then we can talk."

"But it's not the same. What if something happens and I am not here for you?" I smiled and her maternal instincts. A mother protecting her cub. Then I thought of Mrs. Wheddon, another mother protecting her cubs. Allowing Mrs. Wheddon in to my mind felt like betraying Attie in her moment of need. Attie needed me more than anything else. Then I wondered to myself, "Who's going to look after Mrs. Wheddon if she needed help?"

"You'll be the first to know if something happens, you can take the money to the bank on that one."

"Bank…" I thought. "Of course Mrs. Wheddon comes from Lenoir and that is where the rotten bank is. Maybe she knows someone in the bank that could help" Thoughts and plans for a later date. Right now I was having difficulty concentrating on Attie and her problems.

I sat down on the back edge of the trailer and Attie sat on my lap. She collapsed into my arms while we said nothing. Oh how I wished I could remember what it was like to be sweet sixteen. With mo memories of those years, I was having difficulty relating.

Attie spoke first, "School is out on the 13th and I leave on June 14th.That is not much time."

"We have all the time in the world," I replied.

"You think so?"

"What is going to stop us?"

She sat up and put her right hand on my cheek. Slowly she traced out the scars. She was in no hurry. While she was tracing I was watching her eyes move over the scars. They were a light blue that went with her blond hair. I put my hands behind her head and pulled off the band holding her hair back in a pony tail. Her soft hair cascaded about her shoulders. I loved running my ringers through her soft hair, and Attie liked me doing it. Sort of relaxed her. I smiled peacefully to myself and thought, "Yep, we were a fixture."

Attie said, "Have you ever thought about marriage?"

"Difficult to say. Since my accident, not much. Before, who knows?" The before and after 'thing' did not bother Attie. We have talked about it long and hard. It's like looking at a wall wondering what is on the other side, but there is no way of looking. After a while we stopped talking about it as there is nothing to talk about.

"No, I mean on this side."

I knew what she was after and I was willing to oblige. "Look," I started, "As far as I can tell, there is no one I'd love to marry than you. We make a great team, No, a fantastic team. On the other side, I think I'd be killed before we made it to the alter. I also think we should wait until you graduate from high school. You need to do that and not raising babies." She knew I was right. "And, yes, I do believe we have all the time in the world. Plenty of time to be with each other…" I lifted her chin and kissed those choice lips gently and then with more and more passion.

Pulling back a little, Attie asked, "You will call?"

"And I will write."

She let out a long sigh, and added, "I guess I can do it knowing you are here waiting for me."

We carried on talking for a long time. I missed my calf roping and Attie just about made her can racing. We stayed in the stands talking quietly while waiting for my steer wrestling contest. I did not want to loose all my entry money.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 18**

With Attie gone I was at a loose end. I didn't have time to sit about and fuss, I had work to do and I had to get ready for a trip to Wilmington and the class reunion on June 7, 2008.

Work was still keeping me busy, I was busy with artificial insemination. I had been in contact with Randy Goode, a well known artificial inseminator from Damon, Texas. I wanted someone good and Randy, with his spotter bulls, came highly recommended from several sources. He was going to be in the area while doing work for the USDA collecting DNA samples from Beefmaster herds. I was hoping he would be in the area soon as I wanted to talk about using his services. Working in the cattle business means working with live animals and that means nothing runs smoothly. Randy was still stuck in South Carolina and would be there a while longer. He promised he would call when he is done and heading north.

I talked to Bill about going to the class reunion and he thought it was a good idea. "Get Attie out of your system and maybe you'll find out more about yourself," was his encouraging words. I think he was relieved I had a life without Attie and that there was hope for me to find a girl my own age.

I borrowed a ranch pickup as I was trying to dress nicely and a motorbike is not the best form of transportation for nice clothes. I drove down on Friday night and spent the night at the usual Youth Hostel. Since the festivities did not start until 10:00am I had time to drive to the beach for an early morning walk.

The beach was nice and quiet in the early morning hours. Only dog walkers, joggers and scavengers wanting to see what the tide had brought in. I find them a friendly bunch, willing to wave and say, "Good morning." Every now and again I would see someone meandering along the water's edge, meandering with no sense or direction: this was the category I fell into. The water ebbing and flowing, the wind and rising sun all combine for a good place to meditate and let your mind wander. I was wondering what the upcoming gathering would bring. Physically scarred coupled with amnesia equals massive unknowns. Walking on the beach helped me to relax and stay calm despite the unknowns. I was using the relaxation techniques Dr. McGonagall had taught me. I was half way tempted to call her; I had tracked her down through BT directory assistance. As it was Saturday, I doubted if she would be in her office.

The one thing that wrangled me about Dr. McGonagall was the McGonagall Challenge. I am no slouch on the Internet and came up with nothing. Of course I easily found Minerva McGonagall of Harry Potter fame, and yes I did rent the movies and loved them. That was too easy and didn't get me any closer to placing Minnie or McGonagall to MI6. This challenge, if it is to be done, must be so obtuse that the collective Internet does not have it, or the connection was too old to be current. I fretted over the double M's, I went back and forth between her Christian and surname, trying to pick one to follow. Simply put, I was stuck. I had made no progress and felt she was having me on. But she did say, no one had ever cracked it: so there was hope.

I was trying to develop a plan on what to do when I met someone who knew me. What to say; how to say it; to be honest or hide everything? Do I listen for the inflections of true friendship or perfunctory acknowledgement? Do I hug the girls and shake hands with the guys, hug everyone or be standoffish? As much as I tried, nothing jelled into a workable plan. I was coming to the realization that I will have to go in cold-turkey and see what happens.

I had one thing going for me. In the States you can get by in just about any situation by muttering a few simple, noncommittal words such as, 'Uh uh', 'Yep', 'Sure', and 'Nope.' That was my fall back plan and not to address everyone as 'Sir' or 'Ma'am.'

I arrived fashionably late at 10:20am and followed the signs to the gym. At the sign in desk there was a couple with the same last name on their name tags. I guessed they were high school sweethearts that married; they did not recognize me as they printed up a name tag with my high school photo next to it. A little bit too high tech for my liking. Then I entered the gym. Only a few heads turned my way with no acknowledging nods, smiles or waves. I thought, "Was I a nobody?" So I started to walk in a counterclockwise movement about the groups. Nothing, absolutely nothing, so I left. Actually I was glad to leave as that avoided any problems and… well… I'm just glad not to be there.

Since I had plenty of time on my hands I called my old neighbor to see if she was in. She was, and I headed over. I changed and helped her with some yard work and as we worked she talked. The work seemed light and the stories were funny. I loved the one about stink bombs at Walmart. The stories I liked the most were about my father. It seemed my father was an avid coin collector. Coins have never interested me, all I see is a coin to use and not collect. I guessed my father's collection was the one the coin dealer called the Tyree collection. The neighbor told me about several trips my father had told her, trips that my father and I took to coin shows in various parts of the south east. I made careful mental note about each story. They were connections to an unknown world that included me. I was so happy to have anything of the past, anything.

Finally I got up enough courage to ask about girls. My old neighbor wrinkled her nose and thought hard. No girl stood out except the last one. She remembered my father talking about the last one as the one he thought was the best. I asked her if there was a name to go with the girl, there was not: pity.

I stacked up the cuttings and put the tools away and I ordered in a pizza. My neighbor said I loved thick crust pizza with double cheese and sausage. It seemed my father was the cook of the family and always cooked for both of us.

It was late afternoon when I said bye and headed back to the ranch. I put on Zydeco music all the way home. I wanted something cheerful to listen to.

As I drove my thoughts turned to Attie. I had been calling regularly. Initially she hated Origin and everything about it, especially the weather. After two weeks everything changed. She had started to make friends her age. The big change came after attending an Especially for Youth convention in Olympia. She was full of new friends, youth activities and camping trips. It was as if her life had blossomed open and she was experiencing new and exciting things for the first time. In many ways I could see she was. Yep, I was a bit jealous of her fun filled time away from me. I could see the pair we were would no longer exist when she came back home in the fall. She was changing from a young girl into a more mature person. I, on the other hand, was still chasing ghosts.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 19**

Wednesday, June 18, 2008 was full moon. It was a clear evening after an afternoon storm popped up and dumped rain all over the place. I saddled up Blackie about 9:00 pm. I was wondering if I would see Mrs. Wheddon. I was avoiding the Bohannon place by having Jose and Geraldo take care of Spot. I paid them back by doing some of their chores. I felt it was a good trade off.

Blackie was not too happy about heading out so late and let me know by stomping his feet. Once under way he settled down to a enjoyable ride. Since the moon was not out, the ride was a little tricky and the view of the stars more spectacular. I crested Knowles Rise about midnight. The moon was due to come out about a quarter past the hour.

Gazing about I could see the Bohannon place in darkness and the Circle O Ranch with only a couple outside lights on.

The rising of the moon has got to be one of the most spectacular events the heavens can put on. As it rises, the reflected light spills over everything and you start to see things very differently as the gray light covers the landscape. While I was looking about, the kitchen light came on in the Bohannon house. The kitchen door opened and out came Mrs. Wheddon in her dressing gown. It was a warm but she still tied it around her growing waist. She gave a quick look behind her and walked off a short distance from the house to a wooden fence. Turning around, she leaned against it with her shoulders and rubbed her back with her hands. Then she tipped her head backwards towards the moon. Even though I could not see her face, I could picture it, smiling, in my memory. I smiled. She stood up, stretched her hands out in front and then above her head and again leaned back to study the moon.

She dropped her hands to her side, rolled her head about in a relaxing way. Standing up and looking up, Mrs. Wheddon was studying to moon. Maybe studying is the wrong word, maybe remembering is a better word. After a while she started to walk back to the house. She took about two or three steps, stumbled and slowly crumpled to the ground.

I jerked myself up in the strips to look, just in case I missed something. She was there in a heap. I jammed my spurs into a half-a-sleep Blackie and we were off. This was no gentle lope, this was high speed train flying over unknown ground. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. The call went to Rose at the county command center. I yelled at her to send an ambulance to the Bohannon place as Mrs. Wheddon had collapsed outside the house. Every now and again I swore loudly as I had to swerve about obstacles I could not clearly see until the last moment. Blackie was living up to his billing of an American Quarter Horse, fastest thing over a quarter of a mile. We ended up doing about half a mile.

"Where are you O.G.?" Rose asked.

"Coming off of Knowles Rise."

"What the hell you doing out so late up there… I don't want to know. Just make the story good, the sheriff's on his way to."

I though, "Oh shit, I'm in it this time. The sheriff is coming!" I yelled to Rose, "I'm here, gotta go." As I pulled up, dropped the reigns to the ground and jumped off Blackie. I knelt down and felt for a pulse. Yep there was one. What do you do next? I didn't have a clue what to do so I called Rose back again.

"Rose, what do I do?" There was panic in my voice. I didn't want Mrs. Wheddon to die. Who would look after her children… what about the child she was carrying.

"Don't panic," she said calmly

"Who the hell is panicking?" I yelled back.

"Is she worm?"

"Hell, its summer, of course she's worm." I barked back.

"Put something under her head and keep her flat."

I yelled, "I don't have anything? What should I do?"

"Dumb ass, use your saddle blanket." Rose fired back.

I whipped it our from under the saddle and gently rested Mrs. Wheddon's head. I tried to straighten her out, but didn't do a good job.

All this yelling and cussing had caused Mrs. Bohannon to flick on all the porch lights and flood the place in light. I knew I was done for, I just knew it. I asked Rose if Mrs. Bohannon had called in. When Rose said yes, I knew I was worse than burnt toast and might as wall get packing. There was no way out of this mess.

Rose said, "Watch out, Mrs. Bohannon has put the phone down and is heading your way." There was glee in Roses voice. She was lapping up all this excitement at my expense.

"What in tarnation are you doing," yelled Mrs. Bohannon, "Cant you just leave us alone for one night?" And then she yelled, "Get away from that girl, can't you see you've caused enough problems by coming back…"

I backed off as Mrs. Bohannon swooped down on the hapless Mrs. Wheddon. I have never been so grateful as I was that night to see the sheriff blazing down the road toward the Bohannon place. About two minutes behind him was the ambulance. The paramedics gathered up Mrs. Wheddon and had her off to the nearest hospital leaving a very upset Mrs. Bohannon in the house looking after the screaming twins and the sheriff strolling over to me as I was replacing the saddle blanket on Blackie. "O.G., This better be one good story, or you will be seeing the inside of the county jail tonight."

"And put Blackie in the car pound?" was my stupid reply. I was still upset by it all and had not calmed down enough to be acting properly.

"Okay son, tie up your horse and let's talk calmly." We sat in his car as I started to tell about my ride in the night. "Son, I gotta ask, why so late?"

"I like riding in the full moon, and the moon was up late."

"Son, you gotta do better than that. Old Mrs. Bohannon is after you for spying and being a peeping tom. She carries some weight about these parts. So you better give me some better stuff than that."

"Okay, here is the long version." I had a backup story that I had been putting together fast. I mixed in the full moon dates with the therapy I received from Dr. McGonagall. I threw in meditation and doing things that might help me regain my memory. Even I was impressed by the story once I gave it.

"I suppose there is no way to actually prove any of that doctor stuff?" the sheriff asked coldly.

"All in my army records and on notes that Dr. McGonagall took."

"And she's in Scotland." Was his icy repetition of what I told him a few moments ago.

"Yep, and the doctors records would be in Germany, I suppose." Was my unhelpful reply.

"Very nice for you." The sheriff said and snapped closed his notebook. He was not too happy how this was turning out. I think he wanted to see me behind bars, even if only for the one night.

"Not really, I still don't know who I really am. You know who you are; I'd like the same privilege."

"Okay, son, this is what I'd recommend, don't go hanging about Mrs. Bohannon's place, and I don't care if you are on Knowles Rise or not. Just stay away. Now, go home and get some sleep."

"Yes Sir," was my snap reply. The ride home was slow and gave me time to think. At least they have no law against thinking.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 20**

It was late in the afternoon, before dinner that Bill and I sat down and I told him the whole story, warts and all. He didn't say anything for a long while.

I broke the ice by saying, "Look, if you want me to go, I will. I've let you down and feel bad about it. You gave me everything I have and I blew it. I'll head over to Wilmington and see what I can do there…"

"Oh shut up O.G. You saved a person's life. Just because you have a thing for the moon doesn't add up to a hill of beans. Mrs. Wheddon would like to thank you personally. She's back at Mrs. Bohannon's place and the Jones girls are there to help with the small ones. I don't know what happened, but Mrs. Bohannon is eating some humble pie over you. When you get back, let me know. I'm getting too old for all this excitement. Now, if you were married, none of this would happen… How's Attie?

"Loving it in Oregon." I said.

"Oh!" was his surprised comments.

"She's fell in with a good group of kids her age and having a great time of it." Bill was looking at me with a small smile on his face. I think he was happy about Attie finding some friends her own age.

I took the truck over to Mrs. Bohannon's place. Before I got out of the cab I couldn't make up my mind whether to open the kitchen door and yell out a greeting, or tip toe in just incase the twins were asleep. The decision was taken out of my hands when out of the kitchen door came Crystal and Sapphire, each carrying one of Mrs. Wheddon's children. They saw me and waved the kids hands at me. I waved back. I thought, "There's a conspiracy going on here." All my scheming failed, and now I find them when I'm not looking for them. Oh, well…

I walked into the house and Yelled out, "It's O.G. to see Mrs. Wheddon."

Mrs. Bohannon yelled back, "Over here, in the living room." I entered and there was Mrs. Bohannon giving me the evil eye while Mrs. Wheddon giving me a smile. I honestly believe in the evil eye. We have a steer, number 600 on a yellow ear tag. He weights about a couple of thousand pounds and supports a good set of horns. If we push him too hard, he will turn and give us the evil eye. It is best to get out of his way rather than test the evil eye theory.

I tipped my hat and said, "Ma'am," Looking at Mrs. Wheddon I added, "You wanted to see me?"

She glanced at Mrs. Bohannon and said, "Yes." With that Mrs. Bohannon got up, gave me a nasty glair and left us alone.

Sitting down, I said, pointing where Mrs. Bohannon went, "She is not very happy with me."

"Question or statement?"

I smiled and replied, "Both. I'd think she would rather me be gone and save her all these late nights and headaches."

"Then I wouldn't see you…" Mrs. Wheddon said gently

"Yes, Ma'am, I guess you're right." My voice changed tone. I had an apology to give. "Ma'am, I must apologize for my rude exit the other time. I was wrong and should not have walked out like that. It was wrong or me. What you said hit a raw nerve."

"I thought we did," Mrs. Wheddon said. After a pause she asked, "Call me Savannah, Please?"

Pew, it was starting to get a little warm. I wanted to take off my hat but thought better of it. "Savannah, yes Ma'am… Savannah. I think I can do that Ma'am."

"… and I'll call you John."

"Ma'am, ah, I mean Savannah, could you use O.G. everyone else does, and I sort of go by that name. John really doesn't fit."

I could see Mrs. Wheddon was disappointed by my request. She put on a brave face and said, "Of course I can."

I was thinking, "Pew, this is going easy. No hard questions yet." I was wrong.

"Why O.G., why not John?"

I could see she was settling for the long version, but I needed to know, "What have they told you about me? I mean, I'm the new kid on the block and I find everyone knows just about everything there is to know about me. To save time, tell me what you know and I'll fill in the blanks."

Mrs. Wheddon laughed, "I thought I was the new kid on the block by all the questions I've been asked. Okay, I have been told…"

"By reliable sources?"

"By the best."

"Ah, Mrs. Bohannon I hope?"

"The very same."

"Yep, she is just about as well informed as anyone."

"She took me from the army, to you coming here and being the new stock manager at the Circle O Ranch. The fact that you like rodeoing…"

"Love rodeoing." I added.

"Okay, love rodeoing and have a thing for younger women."

"I don't have a thing for younger women, just that Attie and me, we fit."

"Fit as in?"

"We do the same stuff and enjoy the same things. We fit" I could tell that was the wrong answer. It might be true, but not what Mrs. Wheddon wanted to hear. I could see I was hitting a raw nerve. But why?

"Is it serious?"

"Ma'am, I'd rather not answer that one. Sort of personal." I did not want to tell her things were not going too good. I was sure she will hear about it anyway.

"Of course." Was her short reply. "Then why O.G.?"

"The facial scaring was pretty scary at first. The nurses gave me the nickname and it has stuck ever since. It sort of fit."

"Okay, but that does O.G. stand for?" she asked still pursuing a reasonable answer.

"Ever seen Phantom of the Opera?" I asked

"No, only read the book."

Oh." I did not know there was a book. "Is there a reference to the opera ghost in the book?"

"Yes! Of course, the face and the opera ghost. I see," Her smile of success was heartwarming. Then she pressed on, "Don't you ever take off your hat?"

"No Ma'am." My abrupt reply killed that line of discussion. Mrs. Wheddon was not one to give up, she just changed topic. "Then tell me, do you often go riding late at night? The sheriff has been by and has told me it was you that got me help."

I was squirming badly. I looked at Mrs. Wheddon for help. Her eyes were gentle, soft and ... I felt a falling sensation and lost all sense of direction.

Mrs. Wheddon reminded me where I was by asking, "Last night?"

"Oh, yes, last night. Hum. I was out riding, saw you fall, then I called Rose at the county command center, and out they came."

"Oh John, you are so funny. That's a good story, but not what I asked. I would like to know what you were doing out riding so late at night under a full moon."

Looking at the carpet I muttered, "I really don't know. Its old history and I haven't figured it out."

"Can I help?"

"Ma'am, I wish you could, I really do." Just talking to Mrs. Wheddon made the world look a better place.

"Old history, what do you mean?"

"Something that happened before my accident. I haven't figured it all out, but I'm trying," I laughed, "to be honest, I haven't a clue what it all means and how to solve the riddle, but I'm trying: I have to."

"Tell me, and maybe I can help."

I moved from the chair to the couch where Mrs. Wheddon was sitting. I pulled out my wallet before I got comfortable and handed Mrs. Wheddon the slip of paper with full moon dates. "This is one of the few solid links between me before and after the accident. Somehow, the old John Tyree felt it was important to have this list. As you can see, there are dots right up to the time of my accident."

"And you have been carrying on." Mrs. Wheddon said softly and pointed to the new dots, "Why?"

"That's what I don't know. I suppose trying to reach out, reach out to someone."

"Why someone?" Mrs. Wheddon continued to probe gently.

"Nothing else fits or makes sense. It started in the States and continued through Germany to Iraq. It was special to him."

"I see. All the way through to 2010." Mused Mrs. Wheddon as she carefully fingered the paper.

"And you have no idea?"

"No Ma'am, I mean Savannah. Back in Germany we thought it was a girl."

"A girl?"

"yes Ma'am, a girl"

"And what do you think?"

"I think a girl fits."

"So, every full moon you are riding about thinking about a girl."

With great embarrassment, I said, "Something like that."

Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, gently put her hand on mine and gave it a squeeze and said, "I think you are on the right track. Just don't loose faith. I hope you find her, I really do."

"What if I do and she's married?" I worried out loud.

"Somehow, I don't think so."

"How can you say that?"

"Faith in you."

"Why in me?'

Oh, because, I do." Said Mrs. Wheddon. The last time I heard those two words I wanted to run away, this time I did not. I returned the hand squeeze and now it was Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah's turn to be embarrassed.

We sat there on the couch holding hands like a couple of school children. Feeling it was the right time I asked, "And what were you doing out that night?"

Mrs. Wheddon replied quickly, too quickly, "I needed to stretch my legs, so I went outside for a walk."

"Okay, I can buy that," Then I added the big one, "But what about the last full moon?"

"John! No!" Mrs. Wheddon scooted to the edge of the couch, stood up and walked out of the room saying, "Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom." At least I had not been dismissed. When she returned she took the same spot on the couch, I was glad of that. Now composed she said calmly, "If you must know, it's to do with my true love."

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled quickly, feeling like a prize fool. Taking her lead I asked, "What was your husband like?"

"Pew, that's a tall order, do you really want to know?"

"Yes, I'd like to know him, or as much as you want to share."

As Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, thought she started to get a far away look. Sort of going back through all her memories of the two of them and selecting what to share. I wished I could do that: well I could, to a certain point in time captured on video by the Taliban.

"I've known Tim virtually all my life," she started, "His family lived across the road in the adjacent farm. We are the same age and have known each other just about for ever. We went to the same schools and many of the same friends. For a long time we were just good friends. You know, like brother and sister. I knew I could rely on Tim when I deeded him and he was always there for me. I suppose you could call us 'tight', but not in a romantic way. Growing up in a small town, you know everyone and do common things.

"I remember clearly Tim helping with my 4-H project, it was a pig named Lucy. He virtually did all the work and I got the ribbon." Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, was smiling at the memories.

"Another time, Tim helped me put on a surprise party for my parents. It took a lot of preparation and organization. With out his help I couldn't do it. I suppose everything changed when Tim lost his parents in a car crash. I sort of went over the road to help him through those difficulties, and one thing led to another, and we fell in love and got married."

"And the children, John and Georgia?"

"Ah, the children are something else. Tim really didn't think he would ever have children because of his cancer."

"Cancer?" I asked.

"After we got married we found out Tim had skin cancer and we decided to fight it all the way. We were ready for battle and Tim fought it hard, never giving up. We went through out insurance and then received a very generous gift that allowed Tim to receive the very best treatment from M D Anderson cancer center. He went into remission and we through he was cancer free. Maybe he was. That is when the twins came. He worked hard as I had to put my feet up. I didn't know twins run in my mother's side of the family.

"It was about the time the kids were born that the cancer came back with a vengeance. We fought it long and hard. In the end he was in so much pain from the drugs and treatments that he called it quits and we had some good times before the end."

Softy I asked, "When are you due?"

Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, smiled, "You noticed?"

"Been around too many pregnant cows; you sort of know the signs." I casually said. I guess it was not the best analogy because Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, gave me a thump on the arm. "Ouch," I said out loud, "What was that for?"

"For letting me know I look like one of you farmyard animals."

"Sorry Ma'am, I didn't mean to…"

"Oh John, I was just teasing." She cut in. "its okay, I'll hear more about it over the next months. I'm sure people are asking why we make love when we both knew Tim was not going to be around to raise the boy."

"A Boy, what's his name?" I asked quickly.

"Tim, of course."

"Sounds like a good choice." I concurred.

"Mother and father are not too thrilled. They wanted me to have an abortion, but that is not what Tim and I were thinking. I shall keep and raise him as best as I can."

"Can you do it?" I asked.

"Somehow I shall manage. I still have to go through all the papers and other stuff one last time. Tim and I pretty much got everything arranged before he died, so I am not too fussed about the finances so long as I am careful. I still have some money left over from the gift I told you about."

"Is your money in the Lenoir National Bank, I mean the Lenoir Branch of the Bank of North Carolina?"

"Yes, why?"

Enthusiastically I replied, "I am trying to track down the owner of an account number at that bank. Do you know of someone on the inside that could help?"

She laughed, "Remember Lenoir is a small place; everyone knows someone somewhere. I should be able to find a friendly face. Why?"

"It is a lead I have to follow. When father died the old John Tyree had a lawyer sell the house at Wilmington and send all the proceeds to an account at the Lenoir National Bank. Also some bank accounts were closed out and the money sent there. I would like to know who owns that account. Looking at the appraisal district valuation and the deposit slip, the house was worth more than what most people think, more to do with location and a good school district. I would like to know why the old John Tyree felt giving the money away to someone was so important." Then I thought of another reason, "And why they have never tried to contact me and say thanks." While I put the additional reason on the table, a thought came to me. I mused, "I wonder if that is where the money from the coin collection went to?"

"Coin collection?" Mrs. Wheddon asked in a slightly worried voice.

"Hum, yes. Coin collection. It seems father had a very extensive coin collection first started by his father. It was a large one and worth a pile of money. It seems the old John Tyree sold it all through a dealer in Raleigh and then walked out of the bank with a cashier's cheque. The trail stops there, and now I'm wondering if the two are related?"

"And you want to know who owns the account so you can go visit?"

"Well, of course," I said with conviction. "I would like to know why the old John Tyree dropped a pile of money in the lap of some person. We are not talking about a few pennies, we are talking a substantial amount.

"John, do you really want to do that?" There was seriousness in her voice.

"The old John Tyree must have had a reason, I'd like to know. I know I can't go back and ask for the money back, I would like to know why. What was so important or special… just too many questions I guess."

"Like the girl and the full moon? asked.

I smiled at , "and yes, the girl under the full moon; and my father; and the army; and on and on." I paused for a moment as I looked at Mrs. Wheddon, "Sorry Ma'am, it's just like listening to you going over your memories of you and your husband. I'd like to be able to do the same. That's all."

"John, do you really want that? The good with the bad?"

"How bad can it get?" I said, "I've seen myself get shot a million times. What's worse than that? Look at this face, and you are only seeing half the look, that's why I never take my hat off. It's worse than scary. Mrs. Wheddon, I'd love to know who I am, I really would." I quickly calmed down as I noticed tears starting in Mrs. Wheddon's eyes. I took out a sort of clean handkerchief and carefully whipped her moist eyes. "I'm sorry if I go on a bit, and I'm sorry about losing your husband; he sounds like a first rate guy, I wish I could have met him."

"I'm sure you two would have got on. Tim was like that, easy to get to know." said Mrs. Wheddon.

There was one thing I wanted to know, "What happened to you, why did you collapse like that?"

"When I'm pregnant I go boarder-line diabetic. It's pretty common. My blood-sugar level was all wrong and down I went. It's just a matter of eating the right things, exercising and staying healthy." Seeing my concerned look she added, "Don't worry, I've done this before and just have to watch it."

The back door opened and closed to the chatter of the Jones girls with John and Goergia Wheddon. Crystal said out loud, "They need changing."

"Do you know where the stuff is?" asked Mrs. Wheddon.

"We're good." was the reply. They went up stairs.

"Without Tim, it will be a tough job raising them," Mrs. Wheddon said glancing up toward her children, "Tim and I talked about it a lot toward the end. He was upset about not being here watching them grow up and doing all the things a father does with his children. I guess it wasn't meant to be."

The Jones girls brought down John and Georgia who ran to their mother. They were about one and a half and just starting to talk. What they said was all jabber but Mrs. Wheddon listed carefully and asked the correct questions at the right time. I felt I was intruding on something special. I had never seen a mother doing something that seems totally pointless but was so important.

I stood up and started to leave, Mrs. Wheddon asked, "Are you going rodeoing this Saturday?"

"Ah, no Ma'am, I'll be heading down to the beach. I will be with a bunch of motor bike friends. It's a guy thing." I did not want to mention Heather.

"Which beach are you going to?"

"Wrightsville Beach, down by Wilmington." There was a surprised look on Mrs. Wheddon's face. "Do you know it?"

"I went there a long time ago." She said looking away, avoiding my gaze.

"We hang out, go surfing, drink a few beers and talk about motor bikes. I'll go down Friday to be ready for a fill Saturday. The next Saturday I'll be rodeoing."

A look came over her face, a decision had been made. "Sit down, just for a moment." I did. Addressing her children she said, "John, Georgia, this is your Uncle O.G. Can you say O.G.?" This was my introduction to the different development of children. It was here I found out girls mature quicker than boys: that's the way it is. Georgia looked at me while John cuddled on his mother's lap. Neither said anything. Looking at me Mrs. Wheddon added, "It has been hard on them. At the end, when Tim was at home, he spent virtually every waking hour with them. He knew it would not be long and wanted to make every moment count. They miss him."

A mother with her children is something special, almost magical. The goal of raising children is done one moment at a time. Change happens so slowly and imperceptibly that it is easy to miss. I left her sitting on the couch with a child on either side and I wondered, I wondered how she would manage over the weeks, months and years to come raising three children all alone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 21**

Saturday, June 28, 2008 was rodeo day for me. I slept in until 7:00am when the alarm woke me up. I felt refreshed. After a hearty breakfast I got into a pile of paperwork that had been steadily increasing. Things needed to be answered and papers sorted out. This was no quick matter so I got in to it slowly and steadily. By lunchtime I was making some progress, even though the pile did not seem much smaller.

I don't mind paperwork so long as I see progress. The trouble is, hidden amongst the papers were catalogues, fliers and credit card application forms that slowed me up. I love looking at the King Ranch catalogue even through I can not afford any of it. That's not exactly true; I do own one running 'W' white shirt. I use it for special occasions.

About 4:00pm I took Blue out to start warming him up for tonight's activity. I usually spend an hour or so going through basic moves. I can tell he knows what we are doing and why.

After the evening meal I loaded Blue up and headed over the road. Since there was no Attie I wanted to try my luck on the Jones girls. Since I was striking out all the time, I had nothing to lose.

Without Attie I parked in a different spot and, rather than go into the arena, I wandered outside checking out the other trucks, trailers and horses. As I wandered I listened to the friendly batter going on. This is where friendships are made and kept. The constant visiting, the friendly word or the pat on the back when things go wrong. This was a place I loved to be, it had a good atmosphere. Since I was an abject failure at calf roping I received a load of friendly pointers, help and comments. I also knew how the betting was going. The small time bookies had me a sure thing to fail. So far I had delivered every time. At least I had never been accused of not trying.

The main comment I received was to wear a roping glove. This might not seem a big deal to some, to me it was. Ever since Germany and Herr Fritz, I have never worn a glove when calf roping. Herr Fritz said real cowboys don't. I took that to heart and never tried a glove. Of course I've tried them in practicing, never in competition. It just did not feel right. I could not get the feel of the rope through the glove, so I never went with them. In the back of my mind was the nagging question, "Will a glove make a difference?" Without trying, I'd never know. On the other side, I didn't want to be unfaithful to Herr Fritz, even though he would never know.

As I wandered I was looking for the Jones girls. I knew they were there by certain tell tale signs. As in the army, and the same in hunting, you can always tell when someone or something is in the area. Somehow the conspiracy continued. No matter where I went the girls were not. Finally I spotted them tending to their horses with a load of bees swarming around the honey pots. I gave up and went back to Blue and got him ready for some serious calf roping.

I was one of the early contestants so Blue and I wandered over to the staging area. I looked up at the announcer's box and noticed Attie's father looking down at me. I smiled and waved. He actually waved back. I thought that was a bad omen.

As usual Attie's father blasted out the first few bars of Phantom of the Opera CD as part of my introduction. It still brought a cheer from the crowd. I was ready and gave the nod. The calf shot out and was running straight and true. I knew I had this one. The throw was perfect and dropped nicely on the calf! I was sitting on cloud nine! Oh dear, I forgot to pull the rope to close the loop on the calf… and the calf ran right through the loop! The crowd went wild and I felt so stupid. As I rode out of the arena I received a standing ovation of cat calls, cheers and loud comments of the most non-complementary kind. All I could do was smile and wave back.

When I got off Blue I gave him a good pat and told him how well he did. It's not the horses fault he is carrying such a poor calf roper. He is doing a great job of getting me in the right position every time; it's me who is failing to deliver.

I hung about the arena watching, chatting, and doing more watching. I was watching the action in the arena and the action going on about the Jones girls. The bees were still hanging about the honey pot. I was not sure if the girls were actually encouraging it or the guys were hoping they would get noticed. If I didn't get into the action, I'd be missing everything.

Ever since I first saw Otto steer wrestling, I have loved it. Again I was an early competitor and moved Blue over to be ready when it was my turn.

I backed into the box and gave Blue a pat. We were ready. I gave the nod and the steer shot out. Blue was on him in a matter of strides. Sensing a good time I slid off Blue and onto the steer. My hands got a good grip and my feet were digging deep. The steer was coming round and then my grip slipped as I was bringing the steer down. It was a wreck with the steer on top of me. The wreck was all over in less than a second, and the damage was done. I lay there in the area while others reacted. I tried to get up and fell back onto the ground. Damn, I hurt all over. One of the flag men jumped off his horse and pushed me back onto the ground telling me to take it easy. Others were coming out and in the distance I could hear a scream. It was loud and long. I was hoping it was not for me.

Since rodeoing is an inherently dangerous sport people know what to do. I was carefully lifted into a truck and off to the local hospital. It is a small regional hospital that is properly staffed during the week and a skeleton staff on the weekend. At 2:00am Sunday morning we came rolling in. The paperwork had been started through conversations over the phone. At the hospital I eased out of the truck and on to a hospital chair, the ones with wheels. Before I could see the doctor I finished off the paperwork. When the questioning got to insurance I said I didn't have any. The data entry person gave a loud cluck. For next of kin I said I didn't have any. The data entry person gave a double cluck.

The doctor on duty said he needed x-rays, the problem was the technician was not due in until Monday morning. I was sore, stiff and very tender all over from about the waist up and saw no point in arguing about going home.

I was wheeled to a semi-private room that was empty. At 2:45am I was bone tired and ready for sleep.

The nurse said, "You can either Cowboy-Up or I'll cut your clothes off. Which way do you want to undress?"

I knew she meant business so I said, "Cowboy-Up."

She was slow and gentle but that did not stop the pain. The boots and jeans were easy; it was the shirt and moving my arms to get the shirt off that hurt. We had a big argument over the hat. Somehow it had stayed on and now she wanted it off. "Hats don't belong in hospitals. They are dirty and full of germs." The glare in her eyes told me to obey or lose the hat when I was sleeping. The nurse didn't jump or faint when she saw my head, only looked and kept on working. I was glad she didn't make a fuss.

All my clothes were double bagged and put in a closet while I was dressed in a hospital gown, a drip stuck in my arm and vitals being taken. I felt like I was back in Germany. When asked if I wanted anything for pain, I said, "Nope."

I didn't sleep too long as breakfast came at an unearthly hour. The nurse gently shook me with a full tray of food. I was having trouble focusing and waking up at the same time. It was too early for me.

At the foot of my bed, over against the wall I could see something move. Since the bed was blocking my vision I was not sure what it was. Slowly it unfolded saying, "Did someone say breakfast?"

"Mrs. Wheddon! What are you doing here?"

"Making sure they are taking care of you. Silly."

"No, really, what are you doing here? How did you know?" I was totally stumped.

She stood up and stretched high. Slowly she was waking up and I couldn't believe she was here with me. She walked over to the bed and started to lift the lids to see what was for breakfast. "Hummm, not much has changed. Same old stuff as before."

"Hang on here. Mrs. Wheddon, I mean Savannah, how did you know I was here?"

"I was there last night and saw it all." The look on her face said more than those few words could. "I found out where they were taking you so I made arrangements for Mrs. Bohannon to take care of the twins and came over." There was tenderness in her voice and face. She started to look at me closely and added, "And this is what the fuss is all about." She was studying my scars without a cap. "These are the ones you don't want anyone to see." Slowly she traced the one that started at the eyebrow and went up. I closed my eyes and felt her fingers move slowly up and over. With my short hair she could see the groove in the skull. "And what happened here?" she asked as she felt the groove.

"Taliban bullet."

She thought about that for a while before saying, "So this is what gave you amnesia." She said it as if it was a statement of fact to someone else in the room. There was no one else in the room.

For the first time in a long time I felt at piece with the world. Mrs. Wheddon's fingers were pulling out the last remnants of hatred toward the world at loosing old memories. The new memories felt oh so good.

When she stopped I said, "Hay, keep on going."

"Sorry cowboy, breakfast time to two. We'll leave you some crumbs."

Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, stayed with me for most of the morning and then said, "I have to go. The twins will be worried. I don't like leaving them too long. They worry and think I won't be coming home." Apologetically she added, "They still miss their father." She leant over and gave me a kiss on the cheek and disappeared down the corridor.

Her leaving left a large hole in my heart. With Attie it was one thing. With Mrs. Wheddon it was something else. I really did not know how to put my feelings into words that made sense. And then there were the twins with one more on the way.

On Monday, the X-rays showed four ribs with hairline cracks on the right side and nothing else. Of course there was bruising all over which made moving hard. Bill picked me up about noon and we went home to the ranch.

As we drove Bill chatted away about the ranch and other non-important stuff. Finally he got round to the important stuff. "Son, I hear you were lucky. Sooner or later something will happen to you. Sort of goes with the territory of working on a ranch. But when you go playing about at a rodeo, that's something different. Have to be more than careful." He turned slightly to look at me, "I used to ride bulls, I know looking at me now you don't believe it, but I did and was good. Then one day, I pulled a bull that was worse than mean. I knew I was in for the ride of my life, and I was. Stayed on for two seconds and then I was flying through the air. Landed wrong and the bull took a few pokes at me before going after a clown. I was lucky. Took a few operations and some rehab and now you can't tell I had to use a cane for a while. My wife asked me to choose." We drove on in silence, until he picked up, "She was not interested in buckles or prize money, she was interested in me and having me about for the family. Son, that was the hardest decision I have ever made. It is one every cowboy has to make. Sooner or later you have to face reality, and pick your time when to quit."

"I know I asked you to rodeo for the ranch, and I think you have done a great job. I'll never ask you to stop; it has to be your choice. On the other hand, I don't want you feeling you have to carry on for my sake."

It felt like Bill was speaking as a father to his son, giving him good advice, and allowing me the free agency to choose. I felt privileged to know Bill. I replied, "Not until I rope my first calf. I have to do it at least once."

Bill smiled, I could tell he did not want a quitter on the staff.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The next day, Saturday, July 19, 2008, was my turn to go to the feed store. We did a run about every two weeks. Enough feed to use and not enough to go moldy. I went down the road blasting out KTTZ country and western music and singing along. I couldn't carry a tune, but with no one about, who cared. I was enjoying life and that's what mattered.

I backed the truck into the loading bay, got out and waited for the guys to toss the sacks in to the back. The ranch had a standing order and it was usually filled without too much time or fuss. I stood there counting the sacks going in to the back of the truck. Once the count was full I signed the paper and was ready to go. Then I noticed Crystal waiting in line to get something from the feed store. I yelled for her to move out of the way, let me out so she could back in. In a flash we traded places. I parked and came on over to see what Crystal Jones was up to.

I felt like a small boy in the candy store with a pocket full of money.

Crystal's figure was smooth, subtle, and sublime. And when she walked by, everyone got whip lash. She was dressed in working clothes of jeans, shirt and a baseball cap with her hair pulled through the opening at the back. Even though they were working clothes, she was drop dead gorgeous. I sauntered over to where she stood watching sacks of feed going into the back of her truck.

"Hay Crystal," was my uninspiring start.

"Hay O.G." was her equally uninspiring reply. "You here for feed?"

"Yep."

"Me to." Crystal said and then the conversation died.

"Any big plans for tonight?" I finally asked.

"I was thinking about the rodeo, but I'd like to go to the movies if I could find someone to take me." Those luscious eyes were batting at me and I fell for the bait.

"What's playing?" I quickly asked.

"Oh, it doesn't really matter so long as I get a date to take me."

"Why's that?" I asked. I was getting totally lost with this conversation.

"Here," Crystal said when she reached for my hand and took out her pen. On the palm of my hand she wrote down her telephone number. Quietly she said, "Call me in fifteen." With that we separated and I started down the road to the ranch.

Boy oh boy was I in hog heaven. The thought of Crystal actually wanting to talk to me pushed my pulse and blood pressure to new heights. In all the time I have been at the ranch I had never seen or heard of Crystal or Sapphire dating. If they did they kept it mighty quiet.

After the fifteen minutes I called the number and Crystal came on the line.  
"Hay O.G. Thanks for being there, you are an angle. There's a dance over in Osage I'd like to go to but father is always against us going. So we go to the movies instead and sneak over."

Heck, why not. So I said, "I'm game to take you."

"Great! Can you come by and ask Dad if it is okay to take me to the movies?" She dropped on me.

"Hang on a moment! Where did this having to ask your father business come from?" I quickly asked.

"You don't expect father to let anyone take me or Sapphire out without first checking them over?"

"Your father knows me. I've talked to him loads of times…"

She cut in, "But not about me."

Crystal was right. I had never talked to old man Jones about anything personal, especially his daughters. I was stuck. Still at a loose end for girls I thought, "Why not go and have some fun."

I backtracked and followed her home to the Jones ranch. I pulled up front while she headed to the barn to unload. Getting out I noticed old man Jones over by the coral looking at his horses. I went over and leaned over the fence studying the horses.

I guess old man Jones had seen this a thousand times, so cutting to the bone he asked, "Which one do you want to out with?" There was no anger or animosity: it was a simple question he has asked before.

"Crystal and I are wanting to go to the movies."

"Humm, I guess there is a dance somewhere and she wants to go." He smiled and added, "Small place, people talk. Hard to hide those girls anywhere about here. That's why they want to go to Texas." He changed tack on me by asking, "You know how much trouble President George W. Bush's daughters caused him?"

"Sorry, I don't remember that."

"Ah, you are lucky by not having a long memory. Sometimes I wish I was like you, short memory and just say 'don't remember' and get away with it. Everyone expects me to remember everything; it just ain't so. Old age is a tough task master." He chewed his tobacco and spat out onto the ground. "I married late and those two came along. Not a good idea to wait to get married, you can't keep up with them." Looking at me he added, "That's about the only advice I can give you, don't wait until you are old to get married. Get going soon. I mean Attie is a bit young; then again she will be strong enough to have and raise a good brood. My two are a good age for breading to the right person. Will be a handful even for the right guy. Are you the right guy? You want to keep looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life to see who's snapping at their heels?"

We fell into a period of silence and contemplation. The warning that his girls are and will be a handful did not fall on deaf ears. Before long old man Jones started back up, "There's a lot of people about here that like you. You have looked after the Circle O Ranch as if it was your own. Put the time in. But where are you going? You are young and sharp. Hanging about here isn't going to get you much. You need to look to the future and make something of it." He stopped, looked and added, "You don't say much, do you."

"No Sir. Especially when being given good advice. I appreciate it, I really do."

"How's Attie? Coming home soon? Old man Jones asked. He was like everyone else that wanted to know where Attie and I were going.

My face lightened up as I replied, "She will be home in about a month. That will give her time to get ready for school."

"That's high school to you," old man Jones said pointing at me. "Still talking to her?" I had to smile, there are no secrets here. It is just like the movie 'Crocodile Dundee' I watched the other week. At Walk-a-Bout Creek, everyone knows everything so no one has any problems.

"Yes Sir. I still talk to her. I think this trip has been good for her. Helped her to see the world is bigger than this county."

"I thought so. Knew her aunt a while back. Thought it was a good move when she left for Oregon and get out of this area. Don't be surprised if Attie sees things differently now. She's a good kid and has s good head on her shoulders. She's a fine catch to the right person." Old man Jones was fishing in his pocket for another chew, the last one had finally given out. "She won't be a handful; she's the steady kind that will make a man glad he found her."

"I appreciate that." I added. Old man Jones was on a roll and I didn't want to stop him. I couldn't remember someone treating me as a son willing to offer good advice that only the years can provide. Jumping in with both feet I asked, "What about Mrs. Wheddon?"

With a chuckle old man Jones stated, "Now, that is a different league. Married women whether divorced or widowed are different. No, that's not really true. A widow is far better than a divorcée. No baggage hanging about messing up the kids and jerking you off to court all the time. No, no, no, a widow is far better; nice and tidy like. I haven't had the privilege of meeting Mrs. Wheddon, only know of her through my good friend Mrs. Bohannon," There was a twinkle in his eye when he tossed out the name of Mrs. Bohannon. He knew all about our run-ins. "Mrs. Bohannon speaks mighty highly of Mrs. Wheddon. But, and it is a big but, she has two and one on the way. It will take a special person to take on that lot. Instant families are hard, real hard. Jumping in with both feet to sink or swim. No chance of a trial run, just go for it." Old man Jones could sense the question was more than an academic question. "Are you thinking along those lines?" I gave a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders, "She's more your age and is, by all accounts, a class act. Make someone a fine wife. You fancy your chances there?"

"Oh, just checking." Was my noncommittal reply.

"Don't hang about too long on that one. She will go fast from what I have been hearing. Did you know the Reverend Jason Booth's wife just died? Seems she was cleaning her handgun and it went off." Old man Jones let that sink in. To add emphasis to the statement he gave a good spit on to the ground. Chewing tobacco was not my idea of fun even though it was common. "Odd that. I didn't know she had a handgun and what I remember of her she didn't know which was the dangerous end. Nice lady; odd marriage. Anyway, Sheriff Mclevy and his side kick Mulholland are saying, officially anyway, it was an accident. Accident of not, the Reverend Jason Booth has two little kids to raise and is in the market for a wife to take care of them." Old man Jones had a certain look about him. One that was saying I'd better make up my mind and act upon it. With a deep sigh, old man Jones concluded with, "Go and take her to the movies. Try not to spend everything on her, and if you do, don't come crying home to me." As an afterthought, "See you next week? I'm doing okay by you on the betting."

I laughed and said, "So long as I get my cut." I left old man Jones still looking at his horses as I reached for my phone and called Crystal the good news. We had to make plans and I had to think about cleaning out the truck and what to wear. My fancy wardrobe was limited to one pressed pair of jeans, the running 'W' shirt and a black felt hat I have only worn three times. Boots you can always clean, so I guess I was good to go.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

I was debating whether to use aftershave or not. I had a bottle of it from who knows when. It came from Iraq in old John Tyree's personal baggage. I really didn't think the old John Tyree would use it and tossed it away. That sort of stuff just hangs about year in and year out and never gets used, so why hang on to it.

After a good shave and shower and I was ready for action. I drove the cleaned out truck over to the Jones Ranch and picked up the very amiable Crystal: she was dressed to kill. I opened the passenger door and she eased in and moved to the middle seat. I zipped around to the driver's side and off we went. With her hand on my leg things started off in a very interesting way.

"Do you have any beer?" was her opening question. Not the sort of question I was expecting.

"Don't carry any when driving. Sheriff McLevey is tough on open containers in the truck." Was my safe reply.

"Oh, who cares about him? I can take care of that puppy dog." I thought, "Bet you can." I also thought to keep my thoughts to myself. "Pull over at Jo's Gas Station and get us a six-pack." That came over as a strong suggestion, not a request. I could see problems ahead if Crystal was starting to drink even before we get out of the gate. I pulled in to Jo's Gas Station. It was a rundown hole-in-the-wall place. I doubt it if it had seen a lick of paint or a nail and hammer in years. It was an institution in these parts as a place known for its greasy hamburgers and onion rings. May, who owned the place and did the cooking, had been there for ever before marrying her third husband who manned the till. She was old and he was young; they made an odd pair and loved each other that it showed through their gruff exterior. Even though it was May's third husband, he still went by the name of Joe as that was the name of the joint when it was built umpteen years ago.

Crystal slid out of her seat the minute I stopped. She wiggled over to the screen door and Joe let out a friendly greeting and asked if she wanted her usual. Clearly she had done this many times before. The routine was the same only the bit players' change. I stayed in the truck watching this play out. I was curious who was paying. I mean, if she wants to drink and is out first to get the six-pack, should she pay or should I be gallant and pay. I stayed in the truck and watched.

It took a few minutes before Crystal opened the screen door and looked at me with an exasperated look. I turned off the engine and got out. I guess I was paying.

"What took you so long?" was her question.

"Had a call," I lied. Lying to Crystal came easy. I paid the bill for the twelve-pack, her favorite brew sat at the high end of prices. I carried the case to the truck and cracked one open, took a sip and put it in the can holder. At least I'd get one, even if it goes flat.

She slid back in beside me and started to lighten up. Her hand stayed on my leg. I was beginning to wonder if my leg was a place holder or what. As we drove Crystal sang along with the tunes on the radio. She had a good voice that blended very well and when she changed pitch, she added to the song. I was impressed.

It was a three can drive to Osage for Crystal. She was getting into the swing of things before we got there.

The parking lot was full of trucks of all different types. Crystal wanted me to park in the handicapped spot, I declined and went to the back. She waited for me to open her door and slid out onto the ground. She had a happy look and a ready smile for me as she slipped her arm through mine.

As we walked together she said, " I hope you don't mind if I don't have every dance with you. There are so many nice men that I know here that I have to dance with… I just don't want you to feel not wanted."

"At least can I have the first one?" I asked

She smiled and said, "Of course. I knew you would understand."

There is only one dance place in Osage since Osage is not but a crossroad on the other side of nowhere surrounded by trees. The parking lot had not been graded since it was put in and the dance hall had been spruced up with a fresh coat of dark brown paint. Poking out of the roof was a smoke stack telling everyone that there was good BBQ in the making on the inside. At least I'd be eating good tonight!

We walked through a narrow door into the dance hall proper. On the right was the bar, small tables with four small chairs and a good size dance floor. I was impressed that the dance floor was actually big enough to dance on. Jammed in the corner was a local country and western band of mediocre quality that came at the right price. The band was just coming to the end of a lack luster number and received at least two hand claps from, I would guess, some drunk. The dancers drifted back to their chairs. I was regretting asking for the first dance of the evening. Actually I was thinking of an excuse to get out of here.

Crystal slipped her arm out of mine and spun came about facing me. She had to widest smile on her face. She said, "I promise you it will get better, much better." And put her arms around my neck and lead me onto the dance floor. We were the only ones on the floor and, if by some unseen nod the band started up playing a slow song. Crystal was leading and I was following as we moved about the floor. Others soon joined in and finally I started to relax. Crystal was working her hands up and down my back as if searching for something. I swear she covered every inch several times and then started to work a little bit lower. If she was having fun, lets just say, I wasn't missing out on much either. As the tune started to come to a close, Crystal slowly eased my head lower while she stood on her toes to give me one of the juiciest and most luscious kisses I have ever had. Then she let go and walked over to the band and picked up the spare microphone.

"Hi ya'll, its time to party" She yelled.

Damn, she was the singer for the band! The band transformed from a rag-tag outfit to a tight unit and the music started to roll. Crystal was good, I mean really good. Good as in an entertainer chatting to the crowd as well as the singer. Her batter was entertaining and she made people feel welcome. She would sing songs people wanted rather than stick to a set routine. I was impressed even though I was a wall flower down the end of the bar nursing a beer. Every hour the band had a ten minute break and Crystal would come over to see how I was doing. She would put her arm about my neck and be real attentive. As the evening wore on I was not sure if the attentiveness was part of the act or really her.

The dance hall filled and peaked about eleven to one in the morning. At 2:00am the band shut down and started to pack up and put their equipment in the back of a beat up van. Crystal stayed to help. I pitched in to speed things along so we could get on the road by 3:00am.

The drive home was sleepy. I had not planned to be out that late and had church in the morning. As we drove Crystal cuddled up next to me. "Thank you for coming," she said quietly, "It meant a lot." Within a few miles Crystal was sound asleep with her head on my lap. I was glad I had not been drinking, one of us had to be awake to get home safely.

I drove into Jones Ranch, gently woke Crystal up, helped her out of the truck and to the front door. She was too sleepy to make it on her own. It was there I gave her a gentle hug and said good night. She had other plans and made sure I left with a kiss that lasted long and was more attentive than any kiss I have ever had. Pew it was getting warm and I was expecting old man Jones to come popping out from somewhere at any moment. Since nobody came popping out I stayed and enjoyed the time in Crystals attentive embrace.

As usual I was dragging badly though church and into lunch. I decided to change it up and go for liver and onions with fried okra and black eyed peas on the side. I needed something to wake me up.

The general conversation was still on the Reverend Jason Booth and his dead wife. It seems that there were very few people at his church this morning, most choosing to go over to the Fifth Baptist Church. People in the know were saying he needs a certain amount of money coming in to pay the church and his personal bills. They were saying he was going to need to do something or else, and do it pretty soon. I felt sorry for his two young kids. It was not their fault they were getting pulled in. They were suffering from losing their mother, and now they were facing more problems. Yep, I felt sorry for those two.

When we were paying the bill, in walked Mrs. Bohannon, Mrs. Wheddon and her twins. I was surprised as they usually ate at home. Not wanting to miss an opportunity I want over to their table to say hello. Mrs. Bohannon was perfunctory in her reply while Mrs. Wheddon smiled. I wanted to stay, but my ride was waiting.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

July going in to August was rough on the ranch. The drought was continuing so we decided to sell off some of the cows. Cut out the ones that were struggling. We knew prices were down, so we closed our eyes at the price and went ahead hoping that things would improve next year.

There is one thing to learn about stock raising, and that is never give animals names and never get attached to them. This is a business, not a charity. I drove the cows to market and did the paperwork. Even though this is a business I did not like selling at a loss.

The August full moon landed on Saturday, August 16, 2008. That was a good date as that would be only four days before Attie was due back. Our telephone conversations had dwindled and then picked up as her coming home date got closer and closer. Her father had quashed the plan for her to live with her aunt. I think it was her mother who could not let go just yet. I was rooting for her mother to win, but I kept that to myself.

I wanted to see Mrs. Wheddon and tell her the good news that all my medical bills are paid. It happened like this. On Friday I checked the mail and there were several bills from the hospital. I knew they were coming and was ready to get hit and hit hard. I opened up five bills and each one said paid with a balance of zero! Talking about total relief! I called the hospital thinking something was wrong. I had not paid anything and I didn't want to get stuck with and error and have to pay any interest. I had heard too many hospital bill horror stories.

I talked to several billing clerks and then asked to speak with the billing supervisor. I wanted that person to look at my account to make sure there was no error. Everyone said the same, which is why I wanted to speak to the billing supervisor. I couldn't understand having a balance of zero. After about 30 minutes of going back and forth I finally asked, "How was the bill paid? Was it cheque, cash or what?"

The billing supervisor, with lots of patience replied, "We do not list a cheque number to your account. So, it would have been something like cash or bank money order."

Pressing on I asked, "Was it paid in person or through the mail?"

"Mr. Tyree," the supervisor replied with exasperation all over her voice, "You bill is paid. We are glad you are well. However, I have to draw the line somewhere. We do not track who paid or how. We have received payment and you balance is zero. That is all I can say. Before you ask for our security camera tapes, I will tell you that takes a court order which I doubt if you can get one. I really do hope you do not have any more questions."

I didn't and I was relieved. I enjoy my work and make good money for what I do, but in the big scheme of things, I don't make an awful lot and still have no insurance or retirement program.

Since Mrs. Wheddon wanted to go riding up on Knowles Rise I started to make preparations early. She was about seven months pregnant and slow of moving. She assured me her doctor said it was okay and then no more riding until after the baby was born. During the afternoon I took some good camping chairs, and air bed and blankets to the top of Knowles Rise. I did not want any problems and was still was weary of Mrs. Bohannon.

I rode over about seven in the evening. Because of the warmth I was carrying a large handkerchief to wipe away the constant sweat. I rode in to the barn, got off and started to saddle up Spot. He was starting to get used to out nocturnal jaunts. I had him just about ready before Mrs. Wheddon entered the barn. She was looking tired.

"You okay?" I asked.

She gave a weak smile and said, "I can Cowboy Up with the best of you."

"Tough cookie,"

"Tough enough to sit and ride with you," Was her reply.

I moved Spot over to the tree stump and Mrs. Wheddon took several attempts to get up, but didn't. I was wondering what to do when she turned and gave me a smile and added, "I think I need a hand."

I thought, "Damn, not again. This is embarrassing!!!" while I said, "Of course." With a helping hand she went up easy, kicked in to the stirrups and settled into the saddle.

I asked, "Do you want any padding for the seat?" I had found a wool padding for saddles tucked away in the tack room and thought it might come in handy. The look Mrs. Wheddon gave me said no thanks.

I eased into my saddle and we moved out of the barn. As we started off I noticed Mrs. Wheddon was sweating a lot. I guess being pregnant in the middle of summer is like having a hot water bottle tied about your waste all the time. The back of her shirt was already darkened with sweat.

I slowed the pace a little to make it easy on Mrs. Wheddon. As we rode I told her that my medical bills were all paid but I don't know who or why.

"Believe me," she said, "Be grateful they are paid. When Tim was bad, even with insurance, you were worried about bills. They kept coming thick and fast. There were many times I felt overwhelmed by them all. Sometimes I was wondering if every doctor at the hospital was charging to Tim's care. Obviously they weren't, but there were so many bills…" her voice trailed off as she became lost in her memories. I did not say a thing, I just rode along offering moral support.

After a while I asked, "You said you received a gift, what was that about?"

"There is insurance and then there is insurance. We were lucky to have it. However, insurance only covers tried and true procedures, not experimental forms of treatment. Since there are quacks out there trying to bilk insurance companies out of their money, insurance people don't want to spend money on something that might be totally bogus. Tim had tried all the standard procedures and was not making any progress. The gift allowed us to go to M D Anderson and try a new form of treatment. It was a good fit and he did very. We thought we had won. He came home and we were trying to get things going again and start making plans for the future. Those were good times." She turned and looked at me. There was something haunting about the look she gave me.

"Where did the money come from?" I asked. That question broke the spell we were under. Our eyes diverged and we began to think separately. For one moment, for a very short moment it was like we were one.

Looking away Mrs. Wheddon said, "Don't know. We had set up a bank account so that people in the community could donate money to help. Tim was well known and people helped to raise money for his treatment. We had garage sales, bake sales and even BBQ plates. Everything helped. Then one day the bank manager called and said a person made a large donation to the account. Who ever it was wanted to remain anonymous. There are not that many rich people in the town that we knew of. Since they wanted to remain anonymous we did not waste time looking back we set off to M D Anderson for the new treatment."

"Didn't you ever want to find out?"

"Oh, a while ago I did. Then when Tim died I lost interest as I had the twins to worry about. Maybe one day, when things settle down, I'll go chasing shadows." She was thinking and then added, "Looking at it another way, if the person who donated wanted to be anonymous there must have been a reason. Should I respect that reason or not?"

I had never thought of it from the other person's perspective. I was right in suspecting Mrs. Wheddon was a very perceptive person.

As we rode I kept noticing Mrs. Whennon stealing glances at my tattoos that were showing below the short sleeved shirt I was wearing. She did not ask or comment about them. To me they were part and parcel of the old John Tyree. Something he did way back when and something I didn't worry about. I had seen them so often I forget they are there. It is not until someone starts looking at them that I remember they are there. Of all the tattoos it was the Chinese one that had me puzzled. I had promised myself I'd track down the meaning of the character: I never did. No matter whom it was my tattoos always generated at least one question. Not this time. I wondered why.

When we reached the top of Knowles Rise I got down and secured Blackie before going over and helping Mrs. Wheddon down. As I helped her down I could tell she was putting on weight. When she had both feet on the ground she let out a long sigh.

"That was a good ride, I enjoyed it. I need to get out and move about." Turning around to face me she added, "Thank you John for bringing me." She put her hand on my cheek and held it there as she looked carefully at me. She smiled when she said, "Still hiding under that hat I see."

Her smile was contagious, "Can't be a cowboy without a hat!"

"I still find it hard to picture you as a cowboy with cows and horses to look after."

"Why is it so hard, it's what I do," I said.

"Yes, I know that. It's… just… well… it is different from the army."

"But you didn't know me in the army." I replied, "And you didn't know I was riding about Germany roping calves and steer wrestling all over the place." I thought I had her on that one.

"Before your accident you were in a different army doing different things. Before you joined the army you were in Wilmington doing other things like hang out at the beach, and before that you were in high school doing what kids do." Again her perceptiveness was spot on, even though I could not remember a thing I knew she was right.

Carefully she removed my hat. I let her. She ran her fingers through my short stubble. Her fingers outlined the groove of the Taliban bullet. She did not say a thing, just kept moving her fingers about the edge of the groove.

I was about to tell her how much bone was shaved off and how it had re-grown to almost its normal strength. I did not because stuff like that is pointless during moments like this. She replaced the hat with a slight tap to the top and then wandered over to a camping chair. "You were thinking ahead," she said gladly as she eased into a chair. "I thing this is going to be my last big adventure for a while. The old bones are objecting too much."

I moved the other camping chair next to hers and sat down. We had a grand view of the sky and the moon. The high humidity of summer kept us sweating and I kept offering Mrs. Wheddon water. I had four liter and a half bottles with me in my saddle bags.

"Do you miss Tim?" I asked. Maybe a stupid and tactless question, I asked it anyway.

"Of course I do," was her slow reply. "I miss him in many small ways. You sort of slowly mesh and grow together. Losing him was like losing half of you. The void is there and there is no way to fill it."

"Would you ever remarry?" I was probing pretty hard with this one. Not only out of selfishness, also out of curiosity.

"I can't ever say no as I don't know what the future holds." Was the cagy reply.

"Say the right person comes along. Say he swept you off your feet. Would you?"

"Oh John, who would look at a pregnant woman with twins running about causing havoc all the time? Come on, be real." Her cover-up was pretty good while her body language said something different.

"So you would?" I persisted.

"John, in the real world things don't go according to a script. In books the author can choose the outcome and make the story fit. Real life is not like that." She was throwing water on to the fire and I was curious to know why.

"No, really, would you?"

She sighed, "I suppose so. But I don't know if there is anyone out there willing to take on a person with three children. If there is be would have to have plenty of guts and the patience of Job to handle the problems he will face."

I smiled; at least she was willing to consider it. That light started to burn brightly in my soul.

"Did you see that!" Mrs Wheddon exclaimed as she saw a shooting star, or was it a satellite, zoom across the heavens. "Wow, that was fantastic!"

I just caught a glimpse as I was looking at Mrs. Wheddon's face, studying her expressions and loving every minute of it. She had a very mobile face, that was constantly changing.

She saw me looking at her and said, "What?"

"Nothing, just looking."

"At what?"

"You, of course." I said.

"You are missing the show," was her reply as she turned to look at the moon and the stars.

"Not really, I'm seeing everything I can right here on earth." Was my calm reply. I was not calm inside. I think I was falling in love with a pregnant widow of two.

"If you have quite finished looking at my wrinkles I need to stand and walk a bit. I get sore staying in one position to long." She offered a hand and I helped her out of the deck chair and we walked around a bit.

As we walked Mrs. Wheddon scratched her side. I looked wondering what she was doing. "You're looking again," was her statement.

"I'm wondering what you are doing."

"Come here," she took my hand and placed it on the side of her tummy. "Feel how hot it is? And it itches. I forgot to bring some cream so I am rubbing it." She took my other hand and placed it on the other side of her tummy, "Over here the little tyke is kicking and that makes me itch even more." This was amazing to me. Feeling biology up close and this personal was something very different. I kept my hands there feeling kicks and movement. Obviously, I never thought about how babies are made and never thought I'd actually feel all this. "How's the class going so far?" Brought me back to earth.

I moved my hands away and said, "Wow!" I really wanted to put my hands there again; it was so different and interesting. My fingers were twitching and turning, not for a rope but for Mrs. Wheddon's tummy. I had to mentally work at keeping my hands where they belonged so I stuffed them out of the way, deep into my pockets.

Mrs. Wheddon laughed lightly. Her laughter was sweet music to my ears. "You've never done this before? As far as you can remember?" was the gentle question.

I stuttered, "I've never been this close to a woman before."

"What about Attie?" she asked just as gently.

My jaw opened and closed several times. Even though Attie and Mrs. Wheddon were not in the same league that slap-in-the-face question stung and made me start to do some serious thinking. The only commonality was they were females and I really enjoyed their company. The question was, the degree of seriousness and commitment. The real question was, who would I like to spend the rest of my life with? The real real question was, did I have the guts to say the words, 'I love you' to Mrs. Wheddon? I chickened out.

"I hear she is coming home soon and then back in school after Labor Day." Mrs. Wheddon was trying to look at me and I was trying to avoid her gaze. The dark shadow of the hat helped: she knew what I was doing. Putting her fingers under my chin she looked at me carefully and asked, "What does the new O.G. want out of life?"

What a wanted was to get out of there fast! This was getting too close, personal and too intimate for my uninitiated soul. Where was the old John Tyree when you needed him the most? Bearing all was so personal and scary I could not do it. Finally, after taking a deep breath, I said, "I don't know." Again I chickened out.

"One day you will. One day you will." With that Mrs Wheddon let me off the hook.

Suddenly she said, "Oh, feel this." She grabbed my hand and placed it where the unborn Tim was kicking hard. "Did you feel that?"

With wide eyes I gave an emphatic, "Yes!"

"Isn't that amazing? Life before it is born. This one is different from the twins. They were quieter. This one is all action."

"More room for one?" Was my odd question.

"Not really. The twins came in at about five pounds each. This one should make eight at least. So long as he goes full term, I'd be happy. The twins were tough and then they had to be induced a bit early. That was not fun."

All this talk about unborn babies was surreal. It should have been Tim standing here with his wife and not me. It should have been Tim discussing his unborn child with his wife. It should have been Tim being excited about the birth of his child, and not me. I looked up into the heavens and wondered where Tim was at this moment. Was he with us in spirit? Was he and his progenitors looking over his unborn child? Deep thoughts for a simple cowboy. So I said, "I think it is time to go."

Mrs. Wheddon gave me a gentle hug and said, "Thank you for bringing me her. It meant a lot to me."

Finally I got something out that sounded close to what was on my mind, "Me to." Was all I could say. Everything else got stuck.

We rode down the rise going at a gentle pace. There was no rush; we had all the time in the world. As usual we rode into the barn and I got down first and helped Mrs. Wheddon stand on the tree stump and then onto the floor. I could tell this ride was hard on her. I tied the horses up and escorted her over to the kitchen door of the ranch house.

"Would you do one last thing for me?"

Of course I said, "Yes."

"Wait here for a moment then." With that she went inside, up the stairs and back down again. "Here," She said when she got back outside. She handed me a bottle of lotion. She sat in an easy chair on the porch and hitched up her shirt and said, "Time to go to work." I squirted lotion onto my hand, it was silky smooth, and started to rub it over her stomach. Slowly her eyes closed and I could feel tension leaving her. The kicking I was feeling stayed for a while before slowly going away. Young Tim was going to sleep.

I worked for about fifteen minutes before her cell phone went off. Her eyes opened and she gave me a big smile. "I needed that. It is so much better when someone else does it."

My mouth opened and nothing came out. There was a huge conflict between what I wanted to say and what I could say. The gulf between could not be breached. I went for safety and said, "This has been about the best day I have ever had."

"Me to," she replied before giving me another hug and walking in to the house and up the stairs to see which of the twins needed their mother.

I walked over to the barn, unsaddled Spot, put the tack away, turned Spot out and took off on Blackie back to the Circle O Ranch. I did all that and could not recall doing any of it. My mind was totally on Mrs. Wheddon.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Attie came home on Tuesday, August 12, 2008 and I was not expecting to see her until Saturday at the Rodeo. Wednesday morning I received a call from Attie. She was full of vim and vigor. Her chatter had none of the reservations of Oregon. She asked if we could meet for lunch. I said, where? Since this was a rural area there were not many places worth going to for lunch. Some of the dives I had visited were too risky to revisit. We chose the gas station out west on FM 109.

The gas station was located at a crossroads of one major and one minor road. On the major road is the pumps for automobiles while on the side is the diesel pumps for trucks. The store was large with plenty of isles and by the windows was a series of booths to sit and eat. The gas station also sold a variety of prepackaged food as well as their own home made food. Despite being a gas station, it was mainly used by local people and had a friendly atmosphere.

Attie was there first waiting just inside the door. When she saw me, she came running out of the store and literally threw herself at me. Her arms wrapped themselves around my neck and her legs wrapped about my waste. I supported and hugged her back. I was relived that she hadn't forgotten me. We waltzed about in front of the main door. Finally I put her down and then, and then we kissed the kiss of hungry people. The kiss that devours, the kiss that tries to make up for all the lost kisses of the summer.

When we came up for air it was time to go in and buy lunch. I went for the BBQ and some home made French fries while Attie chose the homemade hamburger with black eye peas on the side. We slid into one of the booths, picked at the food while we held hands, kissed and talked. There was a lot to talk about, or rather there was a lot for me to listen to. Attie wanted to talk about her trip and I was happy to sit there and listen. Attie talked, I listened and it was fascinating to live that summer with her through her stories. Her stories were so well drawn that you could even see the birds flying in the sky above.

I really don't know how long we sat there. I think several people came, ate and left. We were in no rush; we had all the time in the world.

In reality, we didn't. My phone went off. Bill was calling to tell me it was time to get my rear over to the barn. Dr. Findlay and Cameron, the pain-in-the-rear senior partner of the two were heading over to look at a cow that was having a hard time calving.

I asked Attie if she wanted to come along and see. She wrinkled her nose and declined the offer as she was still unpacking and doing her wash.

We were slow leaving and I was even slower letting go of her small and delicate hand.

Dr. Tony Findlay had a deep gravely voice that sounded a lot worse than it was meant. He was well suited to being a large animal vet. On the other hand Dr. Albus Cameron was old, crusty and killing time until Dr. Findlay got up to speed and bought him out.

When I arrived at the ranch, Dr. Findlay was busy tending to the first of two cows that were having difficulties. I could tell this was going to be a long and anxious evening. Looking after livestock is not as simple as putting out food and raking in the profit. Animals are just like people. Some get sick and need tending to while others go through life with nothing wrong.

The other night we had a colt that looked like it had colic and I was up most of the night walking the poor animal round and round the pasture. It wanted to lie down and I had to keep popping it and making it walk. I don't know what would have happened if I stopped and I wasn't willing to take the risk. So, I kept on walking and walking. At seven in the morning I was dog tired and the colt wanted to go back to its mother so I let it. Pedro took over keeping an eye on the colt so I could sleep a few hours.

There are no regular hours on a ranch, only jobs that have to be done and we quit once the job is done.

It was a long couple of days for Dr. Findlay and me. We got to know each other pretty well sitting in the stalls and working on cows. You have to since it takes a team to be successful.

To kill time in between the action Dr. Findlay would recite Baxter Black the poet and retired large animal veterinarian. The poems were very much applicable to our situation and had me rolling with laughter. I'm not sure who had the better time, me listening or Dr. Findlay giving the recital. We were fortunate that both calves were born successfully and mothers were giving milk.

It was Saturday, August 23, 2008, when I finally got to ride in a rodeo again. As usual I pulled in to my favorite spot and Attie was waiting for me. We had fallen back into our usual routine of working and supporting each other. The only wrinkle was Crystal walking by and saying Hi. Of course Attie wanted to know what that meant as Crystal never leaves her usual territory and is never seen without a horde of bees following her.

This was the first time I had to explain myself to Attie. It was awkward and difficult to tell her that it was a purely accidental meeting and I have only spent one evening with the gorgeous Crystal. And since then, nothing. In my mind I had not done anything wrong going out with Crystal, even though I had been trying for ages. I was not prepared for Attie's response, I did not realize just how tight Attie and I had become. Attie did not rant and rave, she did not fuss, she took it on the chin and broke down and cried quietly. I felt like a big heel. I gathered her up in my arms and she cried onto my shirt first on one side and then on the other. I never realized what a one night with Crystal would mean to Attie.

As I was rocking Attie, I was planning how to tell her about my upcoming road trip with the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters Riding Club. I had reserved September 1, 2008, Labor Day, to be with the motorcycle club down at Wilmington beach. From what I understood, this was to be the big party to close out the riding season.

I think we both grew up as we sat there on the back of the trailer. I think we both realized that our tightness would not last forever. I also learned that I could not be so cavalier and not expect repercussions rippling out.

Actually I was thinking of Mrs. Wheddon and fearing losing her once she finds out that Attie and I were back together. It was a mixture of betrayal and regret and Mrs. Wheddon that made me realize I had to clean up my love life and do it fast.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

On Friday, August 29, 2008, I rode down to Wilmington and, as usual, stayed at the Youth Hostel. They were getting to know me pretty well and were planning to name a room after me. The owner was a good guy and I enjoyed our evening chats.

Early on Labor Day Saturday I rode down to the beach. It was my job to reserve several picnic tables to the south side of the pier at Wrightsville Beach for the group. I picked on four tables and put stuff all over them and then gave anyone who came remotely close to wanting a table the evil eye. Everyone in the group was assigned a job and virtually everyone came through. Heather did not: she was in a foul mood.

Heather came in dressed in her customary black leathers, customary scarf keeping her hair under control and big goggles over her face. She never wore a helmet. When she kicked the stand down and took off the goggles, you could see trouble brewing. She searched me out and once found she stripped down to her usual beach fair of a bikini, a top and flaps. She came over to where I was sitting and handed me her usual sunscreen to put on her back.

As I applied a liberal amount I could feel the tension in her shoulders. I assumed it was from riding up from Charleston. Then I glanced down at her hands and lower arms, they looked like they had been through a shredding machine. Broken nails, oily black finger tips, scratches galore and quite a few cuts and small bruises.

Curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask, "What happened to you?"

Heather gave me a wary look; we had never really spoken to each other all the times we had been so physically close together. She threw down the statement, "No mind games."

I really didn't know what she meant by that but I figured out that 'no' would be a good reply so I said, "No mind games."

Still acting wary she said, "We went out on a fishing trip and the big guy wanted to stay out longer than we should since the fish were biting and he wanted to impress his new sweet thing. We pushed the motors all the way home and that meant they needed to be overhauled. I had a couple of Volvo engineers flown over from Sweden and we have been rebuilding ever since. Got them done yesterday and the Swede's are out in her making sure everything is fine. I said, blow it, I'm coming here to enjoy the last ride of the season." It was her matter-of-fact tone that caught me off guard. I did not know what to say.

"Work on the left shoulder a bit, its sore from reaching some nuts in tight locations," Heather asked in the same dead pan tone. I did and continued to say nothing. I was stumped at what she did. I thought she was some figure head on the boat: obviously this was a wrong assumption. Looking at the damage to her hands and arms, she was in the thick of the work.

"Work on the lower back a bit," This time her tone was not as cold. I noticed her skin was rubbed a bit raw so I skirted about that spot.

"You're not asking any questions," Heather said after a while.

"I don't know what to ask."

"Aren't you curious?"

"Yep, but I don't know where to begin. So I better keep my ignorance to myself."

"At least that's original," Heather said. Her tone was a bit mellower.

"Okay," I finally said, "What do you do? All I know is, you live on a yacht down in Charleston. Yachts don't have two engines. So I'm stuck there."

"Simple: I'm the captain of a yacht and am expected to keep it in tip top condition for sailing at six hours notice morning, noon or night. So, I live on board and make sure everything it ready all the time."

"Wow, the captain as in the person who steers the boat?" Was my very simplistic reply.

"And a whole lot more. The buck stops with me and I make damn sure everything is ready."

I stopped putting on the sun screen to take in what Heather had just said. This was something new to me, a drop dead gorgeous girl and smart. Then I asked, "Why are your hands so dirty of you are the captain?"

"I make sure everything done is done properly. No excuses are taken and none are expected from me. I don't trust people and check everything: that's my job. And that means getting your hands dirty at times."

"Yes, there's dirty and then there is dirty as in your hands." I commented.

"I wanted the overhaul to go properly…"

"And you didn't trust the Swede's?"

"Oh, I trust them, but they are only hired to do a job, they don't have to live with the consequences of a lousy job; I do."

Her cell phone went off and she dove into her bag to retrieve it. Her face dropped and you could tell it was not good news. Her only comment was, "I'm on my way." Turning to me Heather said, "That's it, gotta get going. It seems they forgot to swap out a piston ring and that means more work."

"You going?" I asked in a surprised voice.

"My responsibility to make sure it's done properly."

I had to ask, "Can I come along?"

Heather's eyes narrowed as looked at me. She was not sure if I was worth taking a risk. I mean to say, this was a big leap for both of us for entirely different reasons.

"No mind games!" Was her statement.

"None."

"Okay then. Only you stay out of the way and jump when told. I'm the captain, the Swede's are next and you are at the bottom. That means you're the gofer and you better hop when told."

"Yes Ma'am." Was my stock in trade reply.

"Then we better get going." Was Heather's unenthusiastic reply.

We did the rounds saying bye, I kept seeing raised eyebrows when I said I was tagging along. We changed for the long ride from Wilmington down highway 17 to Charleston. We stopped four times for gas, bathroom stops, a fast bite and drink. We covered the two hundred odd miles in about five hours, pulling in to the harbor about three in the afternoon. We drove right up to the most beautiful yacht I have ever seen. It was white, sleek and big. I have to admit I had my doubts but when Heather drove her bike down the walk-way right into the side of the yacht I started to feel a bit intimidated. I followed her on board and parked my Harley in line with seven other bikes. Each bike has a special cradle holding it steady in place. It was a neat piece of engineering design. Heather showed me how to secure my Harley in one of the three spare spaces. Quickly I glanced down the line at the other bikes and noted three Harley's two Victory's, one Norton Commando, and an ancient Arial Square Four.

I found out later the yacht was 412ft 3in. long, 55ft 0in. breadth, mean draught of 15ft 7 ½in. with a continuous seagoing speed of 25 knots and has a cruse range of 2,500 miles at 22 knots. I was impressed.

Waiting for Heather were the two Swede's and after a quick chat we went and changed into Nomex overalls and steel toed boots and then off to the engine room down below.

Heather took charge and started to carefully grill the Swede's in what they did, the procedures they followed and how they missed the piston ring. She kept a civil tongue in her head, but you could tell she was upset. Each engine was a V-12 and she wanted to know how she could trust the other piston rings were replaced properly. The Swede's explained carefully while Heather fired question after question at them. She was through and not easily brushed off by off the cuff replies. She wanted details and she wanted them now.

I noticed the Swede's kept referring to ISO 9000 as a standard they were following. That did not wash with Heather. She said, if they were following that standard of care then this mistake should not have happened. I was not sure what ISO 9000 was.

Once the discussions were over it was time to tear into the engine and piston number 8. Heather took the lead and started doing the work herself, ably assisted by the Swede's.

Being a cowboy I was not familiar with the mechanical equipment she called for, and being a metric engine did not help. I did the best I could, which really was not much. Toward the end of the stripping down I was relegated to the coffee boy.

The half way point was reached when the piston head was removed and the shaft rotated to push the piston up so that the ring could be looked at and removed. I was amazed at the delicateness Heather handled such a large piece of machinery. She did not want any more mistakes and was checking everything as she went. Finally it was time to start the process of reassembly. Going with the same care and dedication, Heather led the others in putting it all back together.

Just because everything was together, did not mean it could be started. Heather was a stickler for cleanliness. Everything had to be cleaned till it shone or there was not a drop of oil anywhere. Once everything was clean then came the slow and methodical check-out procedures. This is where the Swede's started to step up and take over. It seems the engines were under warrantee and had to be commissioned by factory certified engineers. To keep that warrantee Heather had to let the Swede's take over. She kept a close eye on every move they made.

It was about one, or was it two in the morning that the Swede's said it was time to start the engine. With Heather's approval the Swede's started the engine and carried on checking out the engine while it idled. After what seemed hours of playing about, the two Swede's pronounced the engine fully functional and fit to be taken out to sea.

Begrudgingly Heather signed the acceptance documents after adding several terse comments and caveats.

Heather showed the two recalcitrant Swede's off the yacht and showed me to a fantastic bedroom and shower. Leaving me she said, "Good night, better get some sleep as it will be a busy day tomorrow," Just before closing the door she added, "Shower first, I don't want oil on the bed spread." I nodded as she closed the door. I really wanted to flop on the bed, now I headed to the shower and cleaned up before sinking into the bed. That night I slept soundly with no nightmares.

I'm not sure when I awoke, I was too bleary eyed to focus on my watch. Lying at the bottom of the bed were clothes for me. A south sea cotton shirt, shorts, deck shoes and socks. They were a good fit. I washed my face in cold water and felt a bit better to face the day. When I opened my door I was not sure where I was or how to get out. "Time to explore," I thought and off I went.

I wandered this way and that. Opening doors and having a look. I really don't know how long I was wandering about before I opened a door and emerged on to the deck. The sun was shining and I had to squint. Not I had got my bearings I went back inside and started heading up to the bridge. This yacht was large enough to have a dedicated bridge. That is where I found Heather. She was neatly dressed in white shorts, shirt, socks and shoes. She was dressed as any captain of a very large and fancy yacht should be.

In a chirpy voice she said, "Good morning, did you sleep well?" She peered at me over the top of her sunglasses.

"Yes Ma'am, it was better than average." I was looking about at how few dials, buttons, levers, etc., there were on the bridge. I suppose after watching _Titanic_ I was expecting massive brass things all over the place.

Heather smiles and said, "Good." I walked over and looked over Heather's shoulder at the monitor. It was a spreadsheet full of numbers. She said, "Going over the data from yesterday. Making sure it is good." She kept on studying and my stomach started to growl. It had been a long time since I last ate.

While Heather studied numbers I looked about. I was amazed by it all and had no clue what I was looking at. I was out of my league.

After she wrote a series of notes down, Heather said, "Do you want a tour?"

"Sure."

With that we walked all over the yacht. I was informed the sharp end was the bow and the rear end was the stern. Port and starboard had me mixed up until Heather told me the fable what POSH stood for. Doors should be called bulkheads and the kitchen, when we found it, is the galley.

Half starved I asked, "You hungry?"

"If you are cooking I could go for an omelet right about now. One with all the fixings," Was her casual reply. "I don't cook."

"So I'm the gofer and cook?"

"Add in bottle-washer and you're getting close."

"Okay, where's the stuff?" I asked. I could see how this was falling out. Heather pointed to where everything was and how to turn on the gas grill. She said she said s he would be back in about twenty minutes.

This was a well stocked galley with just about anything you could ask for. I noted Blue Bell ice cream in the deep freezer. I had heard of Blue Bell but never had any. Things were looking up. I got busy cracking eggs, shredding cheese, chopping onions and Portobello mushrooms. I did not was to let the captain down.

On time Heather returned. I had wormed the plates and had two omelets ready. We ate in the galley.

The more I saw of heather the more curious I became. "How did you get this job?" I asked, "I mean, this is fantastic: almost like owning your own place in the sun."

"Looks can be deceiving. It is hard work keeping everything ready. Every day there are lists to go over. Data to be recorded; enclosures to be opened; services to be done; food and water to be checked out; and that's only the simple daily tasks. Then there are the weekly, monthly and quarterly tasks to do. Then, once every two years, we go into dry dock to check out the hull and have it scraped, cleaned and coated. It looks glamorous, and to a point it is, but there is a lot of hard work going on behind all that flash. Oh, and I forgot to add in the work we go through when the big boss has a party on board. One party takes three months of work and organization." I guess my eyes were getting larger than normal. Heather laughed lightly, "And you thought it was all fun and sunbathing."

"Then why do you do it?"

"The money is fantastic and I get to command one of the best yachts on the east coast!" was her confident reply.

We ate in silence. I was hungry enough to pull out some sliced bread to supplement the omelet. Feeling better I was starting to think about the very long ride back to the ranch. I was due back tonight and there was no way I was going to do it. On the other hand, I was fascinated by Heather's life style, it was so different, so unusual, and so amazing.

"If you're finished lets head back up to the bridge." I was going to put the dishes in the sink and then thought better of it. I quickly did the dishes and put everything away. Heather waited for me.

Once back on the bridge Heather pointed out some of the features. She started with the main one. "In the corners of the bridge and above are CCVT's that record video and sound. The data is streamed back to the mainland and stored in at least two places. Since this yacht cost a lot of money Lloyds of London, our insurance company, has requested recordings to keep our deductable to a reasonable level. As the captain, it is my responsibility that nothing happens to the yacht, and if it does, I resolve the problem or make sure my actions are sound, proper and justifiable." Seeing the look on my face she smiled and added, "Everything."

Wondering what we were going to do with four or more CCVT's recording everything I said, "I'd better be heading home."

"That's what I was thinking so I asked the bid boss if I can take the yacht out for a check out run. He agreed so we will be heading up the coast to Wilmington and I can drop you off there."

"Wow, are you kidding me?"

"O.G., I never kid people when talking about this baby." She said putting her hand on the consol.

"You would do that for me?"

"Yes. You are the first person that had to nerve to ask to come this way. I guess the others are intimidated, or something, and have never asked."

"I can understand why: it is a tall order," I commented slowly.

"I have been working on our course and soon will be ready to cast off."

Puzzled I had to ask, "How many people does it take to run her? All I have seen is you?"

"That's it. All I need is someone to cast off and tie up and then I'm on my own. When the big boss is onboard, I have a crew of six, including a full time chief. If we have a party then it expands to fifteen to twenty depending on the number of guests. And before you ask, I run the yacht and report only to the big boss."

"Sounds good to me. As far as I can remember, I've never been on a yacht or anything close to it."

That comment made Heather ask, "What happened to you? People talk and I've heard. Is it true you can't remember things?"

Heather settled into the captain's chair, crossed her legs and got comfortable. "Do you want the short or long version?"

"Whatever you want," was her noncommittal reply.

I settled into one of the spare chairs and took a long look at Heather and chose to go for the long version with some judicious editing when it came to Attie, Crystal and Mrs. Wheddon. I started back in the army hospital as that was as far back as I could go and slowly worked my way forward. I talked for the best part of two hours with only a few questions from Heather. She was a good listener. I think I over emphasized my ranching work and minimized my activities in the army. I minimized the army not because I was embarrassed; I did it because the action came from what I read and not from memory. I did not want to sound like something I was not.

When I came up to date, Heather was curious about my full moon riding. Somehow I mentally forgot to eliminate that from my story. I mean, telling a story and editing out certain elements is tough to do on the fly, and I missed some bits. This was going to be sticky so I fell back on the story I told the sheriff about riding being good therapy for recalling memories.

"Bullshit," Heather said with confidence, "I know when I am being fed a load and that is a big one. Try the other leg, it's got bells on. Give it straight or get lost."

"Tough cookie," I commented.

"Not tough, just know when I'm being lied to and I don't like it. Deal straight and I'll be your friend. Lie and you lose."

Being taken down a few pegs is not a nice feeling. I tried and lost. Pushing my lips together I thought quickly and concluded with, "It's a girl. Well, at least I think it is a girl. That's the consensus of my old army buddies. It started before my accident and so I am not sure."

"Okay, that's better. An honest reply. Do you have a girl?" I looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor and out the window. In a voice tinged with amusement Heather said, "Let me rephrase the question, how many girls are you seeing?"

"Only one properly. Two if you count a riding partner, and three if you count a single date."

"That sounds complicated. Which one is serious?"

"Ah, none: I think," was my cagy reply.

"You don't know?"

"Hum, not really," was all I could add.

"Then you have problems." Heather commented as she got up from her chair. Walking over to me she added, "If you don't know where you are going, how do you know when you get there? You seem to be floating along with no plan and no goals. I got to where I am through hard work, school and now I am enjoying what I planned to do at age ten. Now I'm here, I'm planning my next moves to get where I want to be in five, ten and fifteen years. Someone said, 'if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.' Same with girls: you should have a plan. Me? I have my love; it's this boat and the sea. I have everything I can handle and more." There was a long pause before Heather asked the toughest question I have ever had posed, "If you had to choose, which one would it be?"

I scratched my head through my cap. I stood up and looked out the windows. I stared at the ground. I studied my finger tips in great detail. I was seriously thinking. If I had to choose the answer was obvious. The problem was saying the words and hearing myself being honest with myself and my heart. I have skirted the issue so as not to face the issue so as to pretend I had not made a choice, while I had.

"You know, don't you?" Heather said in a soft voice.

Finally, yes, finally my heart and my mouth came into sync and I said, "I do." There were those words again. Those two words that mean so much and cost so little. The two words that bind hearts together for time and all eternity.

The bridge radio came to life. The men will be on the key to cast off in thirty minutes. It was time to get the yacht ready to head out to sea. Heather started to go through the engine start-up procedures, checking the radar and reviewing weather reports. She had been doing it while we chatted, but did it one last time. She was thorough at what she did.

It was about forty minutes later that a group of three men showed up. They were deferential to Heather and carried out their duties carefully and properly. The men unwound the ropes from the mooring bollards and were then automatically winched onboard. I guess Heather operated the winching machinery from the bridge. This yacht had all the latest gadgets that money could buy. Heather eased the yacht out of the harbor and nosed toward the open sea.

I was worse than a kid who had a couple of quarters in each hand. I was looking this way and that and was constantly amazed by me being onboard a fancy yacht with one of the most beautiful girls in the world.

We slowly crossed Charleston harbor and as we approached the harbor entrance Heather slowed down to give me a good view of Fort Sumter where it all began on April 12, 1861. I realized that I would never get a chance to see the fort so close and wished I'd bought a digital camera when I had the chance. I filed the view away in my memory to savor again.

We left about Sunday noon and took about twelve hours motoring up the coast to Wilmington. Heather stayed on the bridge all the time and I mainly stayed with her. We chatted and every now and again I would go for a quick trip to the galley and rustle up some snacks, making sure I did the dishes and put everything away. Every now and again I would take off to go exploring and walking about the deck. Since I had never been on a yacht before, as far as I could remember, it was all new to me which made the exploring all the more interesting.

The almost imperceptible change in engine pitch told me we were coming in to Wilmington and I wandered back up to the bridge. The night lights were putting on the spectacle you only get from the seaward side.

Even thought this was my first trip I could see why Heather loved what she did. It was bitter sweet when we pulled in to Wilmington. I was glad to be heading home, but very sad to be leaving.

Heather had radioed ahead to arrange a mooring for the night.

"Do you want to spend the night onboard?" Heather asked innocently, "Then you can start off fresh in the morning."

I had to think fast. Damn right I wanted to spend the night, but I'd like to avoid any entanglements, if you know what I mean. "Thanks, I'd love to." I could have bitten my tongue. I should not have used the word 'love', I should have said, 'Cool' or 'Great', and left it at that. I hoped I had given the wrong impression. I mean to say, Heather is about as good as it gets.

I was equally impressed by how Heather maneuvered the yacht into the harbor and to the mooring. I asked how she did it and she replied, "Bow thrusters." That meant nothing to me.

Once tied up we did the rounds of the yacht and then the harbor area to make sure all was secure and safe. I noticed the mooring was well lit and several CCVT cameras were in the area. I guessed Heather only stayed in secure areas; then again this yacht cost a few pennies. Once she was happy we walked over to a sort of club house on shore.

The snacks only went so far and I was getting close to starving. I could see how Heather kept her tight figure if she never ate. Reading my mind Heather checked her watch and said, "Food should be here in ten minutes." I looked at her in amazement. She added, "I don't expect you to cook all the time. I've ordered Italian for two. I hope you don't mind?"

I said, "It will be tough, but I can handle it." I thought, "Damn, this is hog heaven and I had landed in it!"

The restaurant sent over a waiter with the food, real plates, real tableware, and hot plates. The waiter prepared the table and we sat down, and I even remembered to do Heather's chair. All that was missing was a violin player serenading us. We dined slowly, savoring the delectable food as it was served. I opted for water not wine. There was something nagging me about wine that I could not put my finger on, so I played safe and went with still water.

Once complete we left the waiter to clean up and pack everything away. We got up and I offered Heather my arm. She declined by saying, "Not while I am in uniform or in public." We strolled about the water front ostensibly looking at the yacht, but really letting our food settle down.

When we got to the walkway onto the yacht, Heather said, "I need your help. We have a dinner coming up in a while and I need to practice some dance steps. Are you interested?"

"I've two left feet but count me in. What do I do?"

"Do you know how to do the two-step?" Heather asked.

"That one I have down cold," was my confident reply.

"Anything else? Cha Cha?"

"I'll have to pass on that one," was my sorry reply.

"At least I know where you stand. Come on and let's get changed," Heather said. We walked onboard and then down to a room with a large sliding glass closet doors. Heather thumbed through a minagionery of clothing. Not finding what she wanted, she opened up several large sliding drawers. Finally she pulled out a pair of long shorts and a nice ironed white shirt. Out of a shoe rack she selected a pair of dancing shoes and handed them to me. I did not need a picture to know I had to get changed. "See you in the ballroom. Remember where it is?"

I smiled and said, "No way. I'm totally lost."

"Good. Stay here and I'll come back and get you." With that she left me to change. Her eye for size was good and the shoes felt comfortable and well used. Heather was not gone too long and came back dressed in dark blue shorts over a one piece black leotard with her hair pulled back. She looked fine, really fine. I obediently followed her down the corridor to the ballroom. To call it a ballroom is a bit of a stretch. More like the big open area that could be used for a banquet, movie theater or a ballroom. It just depends on the configuration needed for the occasion. At the moment the wood floor was showing.

"Okay, let's start at the very beginning. Who leads?"

"The guy."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, that is what I've been told."

"What does leading mean?"

"Hum, I guess he leads." I was already lost and we hadn't even begun.

"Okay, sparky, I guess we better sit down and have a little chat."

We walked to some chairs and Heather explained the facts of life to me. This was a whole lot different than Crystal and me at the beer joint. After a good initial chat we hit the dance floor and Heather used the remote control dangling about her neck to run the sound system.

Rather than sitting or standing side by side, I had to face Heather, hold her hand and put my arm about her slim waist. Starting to feel a bit panicky I said, "Wait a minute." I broke off and put my hands about my head and started to take some deep breaths. I had to calm down or else blow it.

"What are you doing?" Heather asked, she was concerned.

"Calming down."

"You okay?"

"Yeh, just have to watch it." Heather raised her eyebrow, "Okay, I have to watch you." Then I said, "I'm ready." We resumed the starting position. All I could think of was, "Damn, she is so pretty… and smart to!"

"Are you with me?" Heather said to bring me back to earth. Suddenly she asked, "What's that?" tapping me in the chest."

"Dog tags and memory stick."

"Let me see." I lifted the chain from my neck and handed it to Heather. She fingered them carefully. The tags were a bit battered. They showed the normal ware they go through when in a combat zone. "Why the memory stick?"

"Simple." I answered, "I lost the last lot, and don't want to do it again. Now I keep as much as I can with me."

She reached up and put the chain back around my neck. As much as I was tempted, I thought I'd better not give the captain a kiss. I wanted to have a dance first! I took her hand, put my other hand on her waist and looked her full in the eyes: Damn, they were pretty.

Heather started with the regular cowboy two-step that I was familiar with. That broke the ice and I began to feel comfortable. That was before she put on Cha Cha music. The basic Cha Cha was really easy and I quickly got the steps. Then we changed the steps by adding some additional moves.

Even thought it was late and I was enjoying the dance lesson with a very good teacher. Heather knew what she was doing and was patient with me. I could tell she had helped others with the dance moves: it was her patience and attention to the little details. Maybe it was one of the duties of being a captain.

After a while Heather brought the lesson to a close by saying, "I have to do some reports before I can turn in. I think we have done enough for tonight." She snapped off the sound system and we walked out. She pointed the way to my room and headed the other way. I was glad. Somehow I felt I wanted to keep her as a friend rather than trying to progress to the next base.

I did not realize how late it was but I needed a good shower and I slipped into a very comfortable bed and slept soundly. I did not have any nightmares that night. Nightmares were one thing I could not control and constantly wished I could without reverting to pills or the like. Having two good nights in a row was something very special.

I was in no rush to get up as that would put me closer to leaving. That changed when Heather knocked on the door. She poked her head in and said, "Time to rise, sparky."

I rolled over and said, "Come back later, I'm not here." Heather laughed and left me to wrestle with the pillow. I had to get up and face the world. I dressed in my clothes and tidied up the room. I gave the room a fond farewell look. I knew I will never have it so good.

Heather was up on the bridge checking over something. When I came in she said, "You ready?"

"Not really," Feeling a little sad, I added, "Heather, I've had a fantastic time and want to say thank you."

She had a big smile on her face and replied, "O.G., you're welcome."

We walked through the yacht to the level where the motorbikes are kept. Yep, it was time to go.

"I put some snacks in your saddlebags for the trip home."

I looked at my bike, it was all clean. Puzzled I looked at Heather.

"Bikes are checked and cleaned after every trip. I asked that yours be done. There were a couple of items that were taken care of. Nothing major, just better to do it now before it got serious."

With amazement in my voice I asked, "When was this done? Why wasn't I asked?"

"Before we left port I had the usual contractors go over both bikes. It is something always done. For you there is no cost as you are my personal guest and as such afforded certain privileges. Please accept it a gift."

I walked over to my Harley and touched it gently. Looking at Heather I asked, "What's your last name? All I know is Heather."

"It's Heather Simpson. And you are…?"

"John Tyree, the name is John Tyree. Please call me O.G. as it fits better."

"Well then O.G., you have a long road trip and I have to head back south to Charleston."

The end of the road had arrived and it was time. I had to aks, "How will I get in touch with you?"

Heather walked over to my, putting her right hand on my chest and leaning close, said softly, "I'll find you. In the meanwhile, marry her. She's a keeper." Then she gently kissed me on the cheek. She walked away to allow room to start my Harley and ride off the yacht. My hand automatically went to the spot she kissed as I watched her walk away.

I snapped down my goggles and hit the start button. The Harley came to life, I put it into first gear and eased off the yacht. I did not look behind but headed into the future and the road home.

With a full tank I knew I had to make one stop for fuel. When I did I opened the saddle bag for a bite to eat. Heather had made me sandwiches and what I would swear were home made cookies. I bought some milk when I paid for the fuel and enjoyed the break and went back over the weekend in my memory. To be honest, if I hadn't gone through it, I'd never believe anyone with such a tail. With a smile stuck on my face, I rode the rest of the way to the ranch.

Reveling in memories is one of the joys of being alive.

* * *

I was particularly happy over supper as I finally cleared off a pile of paperwork and had answered several pressing e-mails. As I was chewing into Italian sausages and spaghetti I asked, what I thought was a simple question, "Who is Clint Eastwood?" There was a reference to Clint Eastwood in _Crocodile Dundee_ and in _Back to the Future_ movies so I was curious who he was.

My simple question had the instant response of time stopping still. People froze, food hung in mid air, mouths that were opening stayed open. I suddenly felt I had desecrated some holy shrine.

Finally I said, "What? What did I say?"

Bill slowly asked, "You don't know who Clint Eastwood is?"

"No, that's why I'm asking."

"Didn't you try the Internet?"

"No, not yet. I thought I'd ask you lot," Was my reply.

"That's sad," Mary chipped in.

Pedro, who is usually quiet at the table opened up with, "Who loves ya baby!"

"No Pa, that's Kojak" helped out Geraldo

"Oh, that's right," Then changing to a deep voice Pedro said, "I know what you're thinking, punk. You're thinking 'did he fire six shots or only five?' Now to tell you the truth I forgot myself in all this excitement. But being this is a 44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and will blow your head clean off, you've gotta ask yourself a question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?"

"That's right, Pa. You're getting better at Eastwood than Kojak." Pedro smiled at his son's approval.

"Who's Kojak?" I asked in bewilderment, "What's he go to do with Eastwood?" I was wondering what on earth I started?

At that moment Attie walked in to the kitchen. She surveyed the scene and concluded with, "Who died?"

Geraldo said, "Clint Eastwood."

"No way! I didn't hear that on the radio this morning!' A surprised Attie said.

"No he didn't" muttered Bill, "It's your cowboy here, he's never heard of Clint Eastwood."

"No way! Never heard of Clint Eastwood.! Wow… I mean, that's too bad. I mean, _Dirty Harry_, Spaghetti Strings, I mean Spaghetti westerns like _The Good, The Bad & The Ugly_…"

Bill shot Attie the evil eye and added, "Aren't you a little young to be watching those movies?

"Not if Dad is right along side cheering Dirty Harry on!"

"I need to talk to your father."

"Go ahead, make my day," Attie replied in a fake deep voice.

"What about… "

Finally, I got the picture and blurted out, "You mean he is only an actor!" The looks I got told me that was not the right statement to make about Clint Eastwood.

"Son, you don't know what you are talking about." Bill stated in a very serious tone. "Clint Eastwood is not just an actor but an institution."

"What about the _Bridges over Madison County"._ That was a good movie." Mary added. No one heard her fond recollection. There was too much action going on.

"Your education is lacking and we have to do something about it." Looking at young Jose, Bill said, "Jose, pop into the den and round up the Eastwood DVD's for O.G. We have some serious viewing to do.

"Your kidding, right?" I was getting a bad feeling about this. If Bill thought my education was not up to par, only something bad was going to happen.

Bill, in a dead serious tone laid down the law, "Any one got any chores to do so we can get at least two movies in."

No one spoke except Attie, "I'll be there."

"I need to talk to your father," Was Bill's reply. As Bill was saying that Attie took out her cell phone and started to call home.

"Hay Dad, guess what, Uncle Bill is having a Clint Eastwood movie show tonight. Seems O.G. hasn't seen any of them. Can I stay and watch with them?" She put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, "Dad says its okay." "Thanks Dad and I'll see you in a bit." With a very pleased look on her face Attie snapped her phone closed.

"I'll still call your father anyway," Muttered a defeated Bill.

After the meal all of us gathered about the big screen with loads of snacks and, once Bill put the movies in his order, we started with _A Fist Full of Dollars_ followed by, _For a few Dollars More_.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

I didn't go to the rodeo on September 6, as I wanted to make sure I was awake for the sermon on Sunday. It was titled, _By What Authority_. The minister had been in good form and opening up some hot dialogue. Bill and I had been talking about Biblical authority as I could not understand why every church says it's right and then attacks everyone else by saying there are wrong. That's not what I got from the King James Bible. Along those lines, I was hoping the minister would talk about why so many versions of the scriptures and why they are so different.

Bill made sure we got to church early as he was expecting a packed barn and did not fancy being at the back, standing for the duration. After the administration of the sacrament the minister got up and addressed the congregation. "Today's sermon is titled, _By What Authority_. This is a serious topic and I approach it with all the reverence it deserves since I have not received authority as did the men of the Bible. The scriptures are explicit. A man can not jump up and claim to speak for the good Lord. The Master made it abundantly clear when he said, 'And no man taketh this honour unto himself, but he that is called of God, as was Aaron.' Did Aaron go to a university to get a parchment? No, he did not. Did Aaron say a book gave him authority to preach? No, he did not. So how was Aaron called? Simple: God chose him through his designated Prophet. God used proper channels and chosen people. Do you see how orderly it was done? Do you see the simple beauty of it all? God is a person of order, not confusion"

Clear as a bell, "Right on Brother Joseph," came from the back.

"Thank you Brother Brigham." The minister said without missing a beat. "If you ever get off your duff and read the Old Testament you will soon realize that every true Prophet is called of God. True Prophets are never popular because they speak the truth and many Old Testament Kings had them killed for doing just that: telling the truth."

"Right on Brother Joseph," Brother Brigham chimed in from the back.

"What about the New Testament? How did the Savior pick the twelve? Did he go to the leading university and pick the smartest? No, he did not. Do any of you know why? Of course not, so let's look at Saul. Saul was one of the best, brightest, and well taught. All that education was useless as he got it wrong. All Saul wanted to do was kill the Christians.

"If we look at the Master, He chose, or He picked, or He selected His twelve apostles. They did not choose Him. I hope you understand the difference. The apostles were rough and ready men, mostly fishermen, not what you would call the best and brightest, would you? Of course not."

"Right on Brother Joseph," Brother Brigham intoned from the rear.

"Now let us look at what this Authority will do for us. Let's look at the apostles. Once chosen by the Master, He put his hands on their heads and gave them authority, or power to do the same things He did. Do you see that in the churches of the world today? Of course not: they are devoid of all authority. They are the whited sepulchers of the New Testament.

"From the New Testament times, things changed to the mess we have to day. All I see are churches that have learned preachers that have parchments from high and mighty universities and I say they are as Saul. Then we have people that say the Bible gives them authority to get up and preach. I say that was an invention of Martin Luther. He had to justify breaking away from the Catholic Church."

"Right on Brother Joseph," rang out from the rear.

"So where does that leave us today? It leaves us in confusion because there is no one that has authority to clean up the mess. And then there are the vested interests of paid preachers that preach for money and not to feed the sheep. That is why we need people that have the proper authority, authority given of God and not of men. If you want to look at it crudely, The Catholic Church says it had authority from the apostle Peter. The Protestants were all excommunicated from the Catholic Church. That means if the Catholic Church is true, the Protestants are wrong. If the Catholic Church is false, then the Protestants are still wrong since they broke away from a false church. So who has the authority to act in God's name and be valid in God's eyes? If you want an answer, you will get it on bended knees for those who are willing to pay the price as Peter said, 'Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.' You have to believe and be sure just as Peter was.

"Right on Brother Joseph," came from the rear.

As we drove to lunch we went into heavy discussion about what the preacher said. Bill has and was hard on authority because of the confusion that existed between the different sects in the area. He was also hard on, 'one God, one faith and one baptism,' as preached from the good book. Bill's arguments were compelling and I had to agree with him… to a point.

At lunchtime conversation was on the grand jury and their findings with respect to Reverend Booth's wife. It seemed she had purchased two handguns way up in Richmond, Virginia, and had been going to the shooting range over in the next county. That was odd. The range owner stated she was a regular, usually fired off two hundred rounds a visit and kept to herself. No one could understand why she was into guns and why all that practice. There were lots of theories, much speculation and nothing substantive. The sad point being the children will have to live with what happened for the rest of their lives.

I had big plans for Saturday, September 13, 2008. I had been practicing on a mechanical calf and was being successful about fifty percent of the time. Still pretty poor, but better than what I had been.

I rode over to Mrs. Bohannon's place on Blue rather than Blackie. I wanted Blue to be all wormed up for the main event. I rode into the barn and noticed it was a bit more cluttered and unkempt than usual. I walked over to the house, opened the back door and gave my usual yell letting everyone know I was there. I got to work feeding Spot and while he was eating I cleaned out the stall. Then I swept the floor and put the tack in the proper place. It is sort of a practice I have gotten into and that is keep everything in the same place all the time.

I did not see Crystal come into the barn. She was carrying one of Mrs. Wheddon's twins.

"Hay," Crystal said rocked the baby in her arms.

I smiled and gave back a quiet, "Hay, how's it going?"

"Good. And you?"

"Good. You going to the rodeo tonight?" I asked.

"No, I'm going to hang out here. Sort of help out and watch some movies."

"Oh, okay," Was my limited reply. Then I asked, "Where's Mrs. Wheddon?"

"In the house feeding John. She doesn't like feeding them both at the same time. Gets difficult and uncomfortable." I had to think about what she said for a minute. Then I thought I'd better not ask any more questions about feeding.

"What movies?"

With a big grin Crystal said, "Clint Eastwood movies."

I stopped sweeping the floor and lent on the broom. "Okay, okay. I guess you heard. That's okay, make fun of the poor folk about these parts who can't remember who Clint Eastwood is. Just you wait until you are old looking your little gray cells. See how you like it."

"Touchy aren't we. Seems we hit a nerve," Crystal was walking close to me with Georgia. Georgia looked so content on Crystal's shoulder while she added, "No, not Clint Eastwood, we are going to have a chick-flick night. Just us girls and young John. Old men are not invited!"

"That's okay, I have big plans…"

"Going to rope one tonight?" Crystal cut in.

"Every time I try, I'm planning to rope one. And one day I will.

"So long as I'm invited to be there."

"Just you watch, one day it will happen."

"Ever thought of using a glove? Lots of people use them; even the pro's."

I gave a very slow, "Yeh."

"What you got to lose? You're not hitting a bean, give it a try." Crystal urged.

"Let me think about it," was my noncommittal reply. Georgia stirred a little and Crystal patted her back.

Looking at my watch I said, "Look, I gotta get a move on or I'll be late."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs. Wheddon asked if you could come in before you leave. She wants to ask you something." The look on Crystal's face and her tone made the simple statement into a huge question with heavy innuendo's all over the place. Playing about or not, my face went red at that simple request. Crystal added a very suggestive, "See you inside." And headed back to the house.

I was toast! No, I was worse than toast, I was burnt toast! I finished cleaning up and putting away and dragged my rear over to the house. I entered through the usual kitchen door. I had been in that house so many times since Mrs. Wheddon arrived that I had become very familiar with all the squeaks of the wooden floor. I think I could make it across any floor by hitting the non-squeaking boards. I yelled my entrance and went into the living room. Mrs. Bohannon directed me upstairs. I went up as quietly as I could in boots with spurs on. I gave Mrs. Wheddon's room a gentle knock and waited for a reply. I did not want to bust in on anything.

A gentle, "Come in," came from the room and I did enter.

I was lucky, only Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, was there. She was sitting in the rocking chair with John on her shoulder. It was a fantastic sight.

Feeling that uncomfortable feeling starting in the pit of my stomach and working its way up, I said, "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you were going riding in the full moon?" It wasn't so much a question as a request not to be excluded because she was pregnant.

I was getting pretty good at starting to understand Mrs. Wheddon. I replied, "I was thinking of coming over and taking you out in the truck over to Pecan Grove. It has a good view and I can bring some chairs in the back."

Her face lighted up. I think I said something right for a change. "That would be nice."

"I'd better be going. You know, rodeo calling." Mrs. Wheddon looked so pretty sitting there, baby on shoulder and really pregnant. I think the term is 'radiant.'

I rode Blue back to the ranch and loaded him up and drove the short distance over the road to the Jones Ranch. I was definitely suffering withdrawal pains from not being papered on a fancy yacht. All I had to show from the trip was a business card that said, 'Heather Simpson, Captain' and the red ribbon that went about the napkin that held the cookies. All that flash paled into insignificance when compared to Mrs. Wheddon.

Attie was waiting for me at the usual spot, "Where have you been?" was her earnest question, "You don't have much time to get ready. Is Blue warmed up?" I really was starting to get all three girls mixed up. This was the first time I had seen all three in such a short space of time. It was difficult to keep then separate.

"Blue's ready I used him to take care of Spot."

"Did you see Crystal?" Blast! How did Attie know where Crystal was.

"I saw her and Georgia. She was walking her about." Attie was not too happy with that reply.

"I was invited to Mrs. Bohannon's place for some chick-flicks. I'd rather stay here with you and chase some cans." I smiled. Somehow life was starting to turn complicated.

I had to hurry and pay my entrance fees and get down to the arena with Blue. That horse knew we were going to have some fast action. I was in the middle of the pack and when it was my turn I backed Blue into the box. As usual Attie's father blasted out the opening bars to Phantom of the Opera. I have been promising myself I'd talk to him about that and consistently forgot. I quietly said a prayer, nodded and out shot the calf. Damn he was fast! Blue was up to the task and rocketed out of the box. Bam! we were on top of the calf and I threw a great throw. Crap! The calf ducked and turned at the last possible moment. A collective groan went up from the crowd. The throw was good, the calf wasn't.

I cantered back with Blue. I gave him a good pat. Not the horses fault that he was chasing a lousy calf and carrying a third rate roper.

Attie had lost some of her zip. Her time in Oregon meant Attie and her horse were out of practice. Rather than put on a show, Attie was careful and took it a bit easy. Her time was poor but her style and attitude was good. I did not bother commenting on her performance: some things are better left unsaid. She slid off her horse and I caught her as she hit the ground. I slipped my arm about her waist and she did the same and ran her finger though a belt loop to hold on with.

"How do you keep things straight in your mind?" I asked without any introduction.

"Easy, I have a day planner that has everything in it. I live by it morning, noon and night. When I'm eating breakfast I am making sure I have all my homework assignments done or I've time to do them before class. It has all my dates and so on all written down. Don't you have one? I thought everyone has one."

"I guess I forgot that lesson somewhere along the line."

"They ain't bomb proof like the time Johnny Rutherford tore a page out of my planner and I beat the crap out of him for doing that. I missed two assignments and a date to the movies."

"When was that?" I never heard of that fight.

"Oh, a couple years ago."

"You were dating back then? Bit young weren't you?"

"Both fifteen so no problem. And my father drove us to the movies and picked us up after. He said he went to another show, but I don't know… Anyway, it was a movie we both wanted to see and everything worked out."

Steer wrestling was coming up and I was looking forward to this. This was my adrenaline rush of the week. I got Blue ready and we went off to the arena. At least Attie's father only did one blast of Phantom of the Opera a night. I was pumped as was Blue. I nodded and the steer zoomed out. Blue was fast, I mean really fast and put me right along side the steer and I was sliding off and onto the steer. My grip on the horns was sure and my feet were digging deep as I twisted the head and adjusted my hold. It was fantastic as the steer came down. I jumped to my feet and punched the air in an adrenaline rush. Yes! I was pumped and my time was good. I strutted about feeling pretty good about it and the crowd responded. I walked over to Blue, picked up the reigns and eased back in to the saddle and left the area. Attie was waiting for me and as I slipped off Blue she gave me a hug. "Good job."

"I thought so." I said. I put Blue in the trailer and closed the rear gate. The activity of the day was catching up with me quickly. It was time to call it a day. I walked Attie over to her truck and opened the door. She was very reluctant to get in.

"What's the matter?" She was stalling about something.

"Schools started and the first home football game is coming up. And I'd like to go. And I'd like to go with Jose."

I looked at Attie and Attie was looking at me, and I was waiting for the punch line and it never came. What did I miss? So I said, "And…?"

"And I want to go with Jose to the football game this Friday night."

Still not getting it, I said again, "And…?"

"And I want you to know so you don't get upset about it. I mean, we're still tight, I mean, but I'd like to go with Jose."

Sensing a slight stylistic shift, I asked, "Did Jose ask you out?"

Stalling, Attie said, "Maybe."

Okay Attie, common, spill the beans. This is not twenty questions. Did Jose ask you out?"

"Well, not sorta." Then she stopped! She had these big innocent eyes that had a sparkle to them. Something was going on and I wanted to hear it from the horses' mouth.

"Look Attie, there is no sorta when asking someone out. You either are, 'yes' or you either are, 'no'. What's it going to be?"

I got a little bit of a sinking feeling as I watched a very big smile creep over Atties face. She countered with, "What about you and ? When are you going to ask her out?" I should have said, "Parley" just like Elizabeth did in _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and hope Jack Sparrow would come to save the day: but I did not. I countered with, "That's not the same. It's different."

"Why? Why is it different?" parried Attie.

Damn, she had me on the defensive from the get go. My love life was getting complex because all the girls knew each other and they talk. That was my mistake. That was an error of judgment. Ha! At least they didn't know about Heather! But that was another story, a lifetime ago and no one would believe me anyway.

"Mrs. Weddon is a widow with twins and one on the way. Jose is not." Was all I could think of.

"Jose is not what?"

"Jose has none of those responsibilities."

"What has responsibilities got to do with dating someone. Don't you like Savannah?" I was nailed. I was toasted. I was nailed toast! I was staring at the question through the correct vision of Attie's eyes. At age seventeen, you can see clearly now. It was time to put up or shut up.

"Well, of course I do. I like Mrs. Wheddon."

"Then why don't you ask her out."

The cat was out of the bag when I said, "I do." There were those two words again. For some psychosomatic reason those two words kept attaching themselves to Mrs. Wheddon, and I couldn't understand why.

"What!" said a surprised Attie, "You have asked her out? And you never told me!"

"I asked her out to go riding. That is not what I would call a hot date."

"Riding or not, you asked her out and didn't tell me."

"You weren't here to ask. You were up partying in Oregon. Remember?"

"That doesn't count. You should have told me: that's only right."

"Okay, then I better tell you I'm taking Mrs. Wheddon out to look at the stars in a couple of days. She likes staring at the moon because of her husband."

Attie jumped down from her truck, the conversation was heating up. "What's her husband got to do with the moon?"

I don't know. She says it reminds her of him." I repeated from my good memory.

Attie whipped out her cell phone and did a one number dial that went through to Mrs. Wheddon. Attie was hot, really hot. "Hello Savannah, Attie here. Sorry to bother you so late but I'm talking to O.G. and he was saying something about the moon helps you remember your husband better. How does that work?" Attie was one sweet talker when she wants to be. Mrs. Wheddon talked what seemed for ages and all Attie did was listen. The heat slowly fizzled out of Attie as she kicked the dirt with her boots. As she kicked she nodded and after a while Attie said, "Sorry to bother you, I should have waited… I'm sorry. Good night Savannah." There was no triumphal snap of the phone closing. There was a contrite Attie that came over to be and gave me a hug and said, "Sorry for picking on you. Your okay, O.G. And you are right; Jose hadn't asked me, I asked him."

I took hold of Attie's left hand and said, "Until you are married with a ring on this finger, here, go and enjoy life. If you want to date Jose, go and have a good time. Just be home at a reasonable hour. And I'll be right here next Saturday night trying my best to rope a calf."

She smiled then gave me a small kiss and a big hug. I was losing Attie. I knew it and there was nothing I could or should do about it. In reality, I was not losing Attie, it was more like the world was gaining Attie.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Monday, September 15, 2008 was the next full moon. The day was going to be hot and humid as usual. I made sure the truck was clean which was particularly difficult because I had to move a four month old steer and chose to toss him in the truck with me rather than spend ages getting the trailer and doing the job properly. That decision was not one of my smarter ones. I got the job done at a cost: and now I had to clean it up.

After a couple of hours the cab looked decent. I removed all the papers, soda cans, fast food containers and paper sacks out and that allowed me to remove the floor mats. The mats were in bad shape and needed a good wash. Then I tackled the seats. They needed careful attention as I wanted them dry by drive time.

We had decided on a 9:00pm pick-up time. I was ten minutes early. As I pulled in to Mrs. Bohannon's ranch I noticed Attie's truck already parked. I was concerned.

I walked over to the kitchen door and gave my customary yell that I was there and walked in. Mrs. Bohannon gave me the evil eye for something or other while I concentrated on a very pregnant Mrs. Wheddon. "Hay," is all I said.

"Hi O.G." came the reply.

"You ready?" I asked. Silly question, of course she was ready to go. Then I offered her my hand to get out of the chair. She took my hand and we both pulled. It took some effort to get her up and standing.

Mrs. Bohannon chimed in with, "Don't you keep her out too late. Just you two remember Attie has school in the morning."

After we were out of the house I asked, "Attie babysitting?"

"She called and volunteered. That was nice of her to make up for the call the other night."

We walked to the passengers' side and I opened the door. We both stood there looking at the seat and then burst into laughter. The same thought struck us at the same time. How on earth were we going to get Mrs. Wheddon, Savannah, into the truck? I should have borrowed the low-to-the-ground car. In the back of the truck was a big tool box. Inside that box was a smaller metal tool box that I fetched and put on the ground. It gave Mrs. Wheddon the boost she needed. Once in I closed the door carefully and got in. Mrs. Wheddon did not say anything even though she had a big smile on her face.

I did have something to say, "You have to wear your seat belt or I can get a ticket."

Calmly Mrs. Wheddon said, "It does not fit. I'm too big."

"No your not. Let me try." I was half way reaching across Mrs. Wheddon when I realized I could not get to the seat belt. Out I got and around to her side. She was right. I tried this way and that and could not get the seat belt to reach. Mrs. Wheddon was very patient with me as I was working on the issue. I think she was half way amused by my concern as she kept offering idiotic suggestions like, "What if I breathe in, does that help?" Or, "If I turn sideways, does that work?" Then the light bulb went off and I remembered the extension in the box in the bed. It worked and we were safe.

As we started slowly down the road, Mrs. Wheddon said, "Thank you for making me safe." She reached across and put her hand mine that was resting on the seat between us. I took her hand in mine and did not let go for quite a while.

What does it mean to really love another? There was a time in my life when I truly did not know the answer. My accident meant I did not have a reference point from which to judge, nor did I know if I had loved before. With no memory of my father, I honestly couldn't say if I loved even him. Since meeting Mrs. Wheddon I have slowly come to care about her more deeply that I care about myself and that I'd like to spend the rest of my life with her. It wouldn't have taken much. She once told me that the key to happiness was achieving our dreams, and hers were nothing out of the ordinary. Healthy kids, good schools, running the kids here and there, and going to church… the basics.

I could easily imagine a house with Mrs. Wheddon, me and three kids trying to make a go of it. Me working at the ranch while she was taking care of the kids. If not here then back up in Lenoir. Coming home after a hard days work to take the kids to their activities. And then, at the end of the day, lying beside her in bed, holding her while we talked, laughed and returning the kids to their bedrooms. I could not imagine anything better than being and working with someone you love.

"I took a few things over to Pecan Grove to make it a little more comfortable. Have you been there?" I asked.

"No, just heard of it, never been there; too pregnant."

"I think you will like it." Pecan Grove was a quiet area, better known for parking because of its grand views. It was higher than Knowles Rise and accessible by truck while Knowles Rise was not.

I had chosen a picnic area with a covered table. After I parked, I pulled out of the back of the truck two good camping chairs and then helped Mrs. Wheddon out of the truck. I used the tool box again. As she got onto the ground I found myself standing very close to her. I wanted to say what was on my mind but my mouth would not engage. I walked her over to the chairs and she eased into a chair.

The view was grand, just like a huge map that was rolled out in front of you and stretched for miles and miles in all direction. The line between the heavens and the distant lands was blurred to give the impression of one continuous panorama with no beginning and no end.

I sad in the other chair and took hold of Mrs. Wheddon's hand. She did not pull back. We looked into the heavens at the moon and became lost in our separate thoughts. I was seriously wondering if Mrs. Wheddon was the girl old John Tyree was mooning about. As important as the question was, I could not find the words to ask her.

"Penny for your thoughts," asked Mrs. Wheddon without taking her eyes off the moon.

I gave a little laugh and said, "You, of course. I'm beginning to feel you can read my mind as you always catch me thinking of you."

"What about?"

"Oh just you…"

"Are the kids there?" was her pensive question.

"Always there. I don't see you without John, Georgia and Tim."

"Why is John first when Georgia is the oldest?" She asked quickly.

"Simple, it's a boy thing." Mrs. Wheddon quickly let go of my hand, gently slapped me and then quickly reconnected with a friendly squeeze. I gave her a quick glance and caught a lovely look on her face.

Throwing a curve, I asked, "How do you know your parents love you? Do they say it or what? Do they show it?"

"That's quite a question. What brought that on?"

"Just that I'm stuck without a reference point. Like, you are supposed to learn things from your parents. I can't remember, so how do you know?"

"John, it's not a simple answer, and I'm nor sure I'm the best one to answer that question…"

"You are all I have, please help me?"

Her eyes were starting to weld up with moisture as she looked at me. There were a multitude of feelings running across her face that moved too fast for me to read them all in the moon light.

"Oh John, what am I going to do with you?" was her rhetorical question. I thought it was pretty simple but I did not have the guts to say what was pressing on my mind. "Love has too many facets, too many ways of looking at it. Let me give you a very short look at love and then let me do some serious thinking before I get back to you on that one." I nodded in agreement. "I look at love in two ways. What you say and what you do. Saying and doing go together. Maybe not fifty - fifty but close to it. Then again percentage wise may change, but they have to be there.

"Saying has a whole lot behind it as does doing. There are many many ways to say you love someone just as there are many many ways to show someone you love them." Mrs. Wheddon stopped and looked at me, smiling she added, "Let me stop there and give me a chance to do a better job next time.'

I lent over and kissed her hand that I was holding. She smiled. Then I asked, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

She turned her head away from me and for the longest did not say anything. In a soft and loving voice she replied, "Yes, I do."

I knew I was on sensitive ground and felt it would be rude to pursue that line of questioning.

"He's waking up," Mrs. Wheddon said.

"Who?" was my puzzled reply.

"Tim. He's stretching and kicking. Here feel." In her excitement Mrs. Wheddon pulled my hand so I had to get out of my chair and kneel beside her. Yep, there he was kicking up a storm. I have to admit I was enjoying these hands on biology lessons. I had been doing a lot of searching on the Internet about having babies but this was the icing on the cake.

"Here's his head!"

With my other hand I could feel Tim's head pushing outward. Absolutely amazing! By this time I was sitting on the edge of the camper chair trying to stay steady and feel Tim's movements. I looked at Mrs. Wheddon and there were small tears rolling down her cheeks. "Are you okay?" I asked quietly. I was worried something was wrong.

"Couldn't be better or happier than I am now."

I reached to wipe away her tears but instead slid my hand behind her head and slowly leaned over and gave her a kiss. Oh my! This was not just a kiss, this was not hot passion, this was a kiss that I never had before. It was sweat, tender, fulfilling and deep. Mrs. Wheddon put her hands on my face and eagerly returned my kiss. Her hands worked their magic just as much as her lips did. This was indeed the icing on the cake.

Sharply Mrs. Wheddon pulled back and said, "Contractions," There was pain in her voice. Her hands went to her unborn.

"Here! Now!" I said.

"Another. How long was that?"

"Too damn close," I said, "We're off to the hospital. Are you registered here or back home?"

"Both."

I gently eased her out of her chair and over to the truck. I'm glad I left the tool box out. Once loaded I took off like a bat out of hell to the local regional hospital. I gave Mrs. Wheddon my watch to time the intervals between contractions. They were getting further and further apart by the time we reached the hospital.

I was met by two nurses that helped Mrs. Wheddon out of the truck and into a wheelchair and took her in to admissions while I parked. By the time I was allowed to see her she was in bed all wired up and with a drip going. She was still having contractions but they were getting weaker and further apart.

She turned and smiled at me when I walked in. She patted the edge of the bed as the place for me to sit.

Brightly she said, "I guess we won't be doing that again in a hurry."

I wanted to laugh, but this was serious. I mean, I was worried that the kiss started the contractions. My knowledge of babies was severely limited and I didn't want to go about the hospital blurting out the fact we had kissed and that fired off the contractions.

I sat on the edge of the bed holding her hand and looking at her. I was thinking, "Here I go feet first, and it feels just right." While I said, "I think I can wait."

The night doctor came in, looked at the chart and told Mrs. Wheddon if the contractions are getting weaker and further apart, she would be released in the morning.

It was late and I was tired. It was bed time. I found two chairs and pulled them together to make a bed for the night. I found a blanket and turned off the lights.

Suddenly Mrs. Wheddon said, "I got to call Attie to see if she could stay over and keep an eye on the twins." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number; Attie answered. I handed the phone to Mrs. Wheddon and she chatted to Attie. I could tell Attie was asking loads of questions by the answers Mrs. Wheddon was giving. I winced when Mrs. Wheddon said I was there and going to spend the night with her. It came out correctly but gave the wrong impression. I could see Attie expecting a detailed explanation of my nocturnal activities.

Breakfast came at the usual unearthly hour. We shared in silence. It was too early for any meaningful conversation.

Once the day doctor came by and made sure the contractions had stopped Mrs. Wheddon was ready to be released.

It is hard to get into a hospital, even with insurance. They are just as hard to get out with so many forms to sign. The attendant who pushed Mrs. Wheddon out to the truck was not impressed by the tool box trick of getting Mrs. Wheddon into the truck. He gave me a dirty look as if to say, get a car!

Once we on the road home, I said, "Look, I didn't mean for contractions to start, I just meant…" And I lost it.

"What did you mean?"

"I mean to say, I like you, a lot."

"That's a lot of big words for a cowboy." I was not sure if she was teasing me or not. "Give me your hand," I did. Then she added, "And I like you, a lot to." With that said, Mrs. Wheddon settled into her seat and allowed me to drive her back to Mrs. Bohannon's place. The minute we pulled in to the Bohannon Ranch, Mrs. Bohannon was out like a rocket. I've never seen such an old lady move so fast. Then when I got the tool box out of the truck bed, I swear I saw smoke coming out of Mrs. Bohannon's ears. She was livid with my treatment of her nephew's wife and child. As she helped Mrs. Wheddon over to the house she gave me a double evil eye. Boy-oh-boy, I couldn't do one thing right in her eyes. Somehow, at every opportunity I have messed up. Ha! At least I gave Mrs. Wheddon a kiss! That put a smile on my face for the rest of the day.

The rest of the day was one big whirlwind. I was expected to be at the ranch at 7:00am as we were going to start our fall roundup and work the cattle. I was late and that meant everyone else was working double hard to carry my load. Bill was not too impressed with my dedication to the job at hand. I saddled up Blackie and got going.

The next two weeks were hard. We had cattle to round up and push into the working shoot to doctor. Bill didn't like the new fangled squeeze shoot that had been about for years. Bill was of the old school that says, 'if it was good enough for my Pa, it's good enough for me.' I liked the working shoot as it gave you hands on ability even though there is a higher risk of getting hurt. One of the tradeoffs of life.

Once the doctoring and historical paperwork was complete then Bill had to decide which ones to keep and what to send to market. This is not a fast decision. Bill's plan to move from an good quality beef ranch to a top quality beef ranch takes planning and scheming to get the right blood lines into the herd. Every time you buy and sell the decision has to enhance the bottom line, not detract. Once the decisions were made, it was my responsibility to take the chosen ones to market and sell them.

Markets made me nervous. I never knew if I was getting the best price. Some say the markets are too dominated by the packing plants; and that is another story. By late September 2008 the recession was in full swing and the prices I managed to get were pretty poor. When I reported back to Bill, he was half way expecting some bad news, just not that bad.

With Mrs. Wheddon's due date getting closer, her activities were scaled back and the only time I could see her was when I went over to take care of Spot. With working at the ranch and Spot I was getting pretty ragged toward to end of September.

Then as we entered October we had some issues with the farmers who rented Bill's land and the state of the fields after harvesting. Everyone was getting hit pretty hard by the financial crisis. Bill wanted me to keep and eye on certain people and take photos. So off I'd go on Blackie riding over the wide open range of the ranch. Usually on these day long trips I'd take a couple spare horses and trade off during the day. That way I was always on a fresh horse under me, just in case.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

I needed a break and since the summer weather had not changed to fall so I decided to head down to Wrightsville Beach one last time before the weather changed. I rode down to Wilmington on Friday, October 10, 2008. The weather forecast was for another sunny and warm day which made for a great ride on my Harley. I stayed at the usual Youth Hostel. I was on first name base with the owner since I had been there so often during the year. He was a nice guy.

Early Saturday morning I rode over to the beach. It was quiet, the way I liked it. The sun was slowly rising out of the ocean spreading warmth as it climbed into the sky. There is something about being on the beach early in the morning that is so relaxing. The usual early people were out and about. An older couple were picking through the flotsam and jetsam on the beach. I think he was looking for odd shaped wood pieces as that was what he was picking up and showing his wife. On her recommendation he'd put it in his bag or not. They were working their way up the beach away from me.

Unfortunately the beach shops didn't open until 10:00am, later than usual; then again this was not the high season. I had brought a breakfast of fruit as I wanted something light to eat. It is best not to surf on a heavy stomach, and I wanted to hit the good waves in the morning. When the shop opened I rented a wet suit and board and had several hours in the water chasing waves. It was fun, relaxing and a good way to learn patience. It was after two when I quit. The cold and a string of three good rides told me it was time to have some warm food.

I chatted briefly to the shop owner, letting him know that I would not be seeing him until next year and then headed off to town to eat.

A while ago Mrs. Weddon had told me about a great crab place called the Crab Shack. She said it was her special place when in Wilmington. As she gave me directions I entered them in to my new IPhone. I went from the map to the satellite view and after looking at the screen, I gave her a look that said, 'I don't believe you.' I handed her the phone and she said that was the place: you could even see the wreck of a boat outside the door.

The Shrimp Shack is in the historic area of downtown Wilmington. The Cape Fear River runs roughly north and south with the downtown historic area running from the river in a westerly direction away from the river. The westerly end of the district is where the tourists go. There you get the usual touristy shops that carry sea stuff like shells, nets, wind chimes and toys for the kids. I have never understood the need for these types of shops as they are all the same carrying the same stuff with the same bored kid at the till. I drove, passing the espresso coffee shops, the upscale restaurants, the antique shops that do carry some interesting pieces, to the rundown river side of the historic district. Here, were the old warehouses are, the old and run down office buildings exist, here are the places your parents warn you about. This was the area I was heading to. I rode in on 74, then on to 17, then turning off on to one of the roads that lead directly to the river. Here the sidewalk shows how unkind time has been; everything showed a rundown and dilapidated look. Time had moved on.

I motored in to the parking lot, pushed down the stand and got off. The place looked like it was leaning too much and would fall down any minute. I liked the exterior of old fishing nets, crab pots, a few broken oars, an anchor with rusty chains. I couldn't understand how the hubcaps and old license plates fitted in. Maybe it did and I couldn't see it.

The porch was still sagging and the broken row boat was still there as I entered. I opened the door and drew in the flavors and aroma of a place that produces good food. Mrs. Weddon certainly knew her out-of-the-way places.

To one side was a long bar, on the other side, overlooking the river was a series of windows that had the picnic tables for people to sit, eat and watch the river ebb and flow. The waitress looked like she had been here forever, complete with cigarette hanging out the side of her mouth and a large hair-do straight out of an Elvis Presley magazine. She came over and I ordered what Mrs. Weddon said was the best, a bucket of chilled shrimp with sweet tea.

I had to rent the movie _Forest Gump_ to understand what Mrs. Weddon meant by saying there were loads of ways to make shrimp. I liked the movie and the fact I could join the collective experience it offered. I still have difficulty with references to shows like MASH, _Mork & Mindy_, and the _Wonder Years_. At least with movies I could rent them. I loved the _Star Wars_ movies. I think they were the greatest movies, ever, and I am planning to put on the 2010 census Jedi Knight as my religion. Joining the societal collective memory really makes a difference. Somehow I feel more accepted, if that makes sense.

The food was very good and the country & western music I chose added to the good feeling I had. As I ate I read a back issue of The Times-Picayune newspaper. In their magazine section they always covered Zydeco music.

I was in no real rush to go home so I motored back over to the pier on the beach and parked. I bought a bottle of beer from the corner store and headed to the pier to people watch and see the sun set. Sort of relax and mellow out before going home.

I found a chair and settled down. There was a pull that wanted me to stay at the beach. I guess it was all to do with this being my last trip of the season. Looking about I noticed most of the people fishing off the pier had left. The ones remaining were cleaning out their catch before putting them into old and battered Igloo's and putting up their rods. Most of the people were leaving while a mother and three children came on to the pier. The three girls were all dressed the same in light blue with white polka dot summer dresses, summer hats and white shoes that came with white frilly socks. I guessed their ages to be about 8, 6, and 4, or something like that. She marched them down to the end of the pier, passing me and giving me the cold shoulder as if to say I shouldn't be looking at her or her kids. I thought, "Tuff-luck, it's a free world."

The family was there for a photo shoot. She had a digital as well as a 35mm camera: you can tell by the noise it makes. She posed them this way and that. Individually, in twos and finally collectively. I was fascinated by how she posed the kids and how well they behaved. It was obvious there was love in the family. I could not hear all the words as the mother spoke in a quiet voice. The kids did as they were asked. I guess it was getting near the end when she asked the children to stay in age sequence. The setting sun was giving them a nice golden look. I could see why she chose this time of the day. Then she asked them to sit on the hand rail with their arms about each other. I liked that picture and filed it away in the back of my mind.

I took a drink of beer and when I looked next there were only two children. The youngest was gone. The mother let out a loud piercing scream and ran to the edge. Without thinking I kicked off my sandals, ran to the railing and, without stopping, put one hand on the edge and went over after the child. It was a long, long way down and a lot went through my mind before I hit the water. On the way down I wanted to spot the child but all I could see was a large white knit bag: I couldn't see the child.

When I hit the water I did a scissor kick and used my hands to stop me sinking too far. It was five strokes to the bag. The bag had a face, body, arms and legs, and was drinking in cold water. I grabbed the child and flipped onto my back, putting her on my stomach. Holding on to the little kid I did the inverse breast stroke kick to push us toward the beach. When I looked up at the pier I was getting confused between seeing the mother and two children with four other faces. My mind was playing tricks or I drank the beer too fast.

Without using my arms, progress was slow and my legs were getting tired. Too much surfing and now kicking. The kid was getting the shakes and her lips were turning blue. At least she was alive to tell this story one day.

I finally felt bottom and trudged out of the surf. I shook water from my head, I had lost my cap, I started walking out of the water and up the sand to meet the anxious mother and other two children at the water's edge. I held out the child.

"Here you go." Was all I could think to say. I was getting cold now.

She gave an emotional, "Thank you," as she smothered her daughter with her arms. When her eyes met mine, I saw the depth of a mother's love for her child. Mumbling, "I, we have to go," she took off.

I replied, "Glad I could help."

I stood on the beach and looked back at the pier. The four faces I saw, one was familiar. A younger and slightly thinner face of someone I knew. It was an old memory that was inching its way back to me. The faced slowly became solid and finally I could put a name to the face, it was Mrs. Weddon, it was Savannah. It was Savannah's white bag I was saving from the water; or rather it was her white bag I got mixed up with the child.

Stuck in the sand, lost in my first memory from the old John Tyree, filled with emotions running from anger and physical violence to abject reticence, I didn't know what to do.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

The drive home from Wrightsville Beach was hard. I pushed the Harley all the way. I lost count of the people I passed, some on the outside and some on the inside: if they were too slow. I had flipped the bird to so many drivers my finger was getting worn out. I was mad, I was hot, I was after answers.

I drove past the Circle O Ranch and went over to Mrs. Bohannon's place. The roar of the motorbike announced my presence. I noticed the Reverend Jason Booth's car in the drive way. The latest twist to his story was the guy who sold the handguns to his wife was her cousin and the guy that owned the gun range was an old school friend. From trying to follow the Reverend's story I learned what _Payton Place_ meant.

I did not knock since the Reverend was visiting, that meant everyone would be up. I was still dressed for the beach in beach shoes, long shorts, muscle shirt and a new, reversed, baseball cap as I walked into the living room. What an interesting sight was waiting for me. The Reverend Jason Booth and his two children on one side, Savannah and her two children on the other side, with Mrs. Bohannon looking like the cat that found the cream sitting between the two parties.

Having the floor I started, "Sorry for the intrusion Mrs. Bohannon, and an apology for the way I'm dressed. I was down at Wrightsville Beach when something happened that Savannah needs to know." Not stopping I rolled on, "I was sitting in a deckchair on the pier drinking a beer, when a lady and her three kids came along on a photo shoot. You know, the mother wants pictures of her kids, three girls all dressed alike in cute sun dresses and matching hats and shoes. They looked good as she posed them this way and that. Then she put sat them on the hand rail for some final shots. Before I took a drink there were three, after the drink there were two. One had fallen off the pier and into the water!" Looking directly at Savannah, quietly I asked, "Savannah, what would the old John Tyree do next?"

Savannah was not looking at me; she had her arms wrapped around her two children to protect them against my verbal onslaught.

"Savannah, it's a simple question; or don't you remember eight years ago?" Her eyes shot at me and said 'stop', I was not interested in stopping so I continued talking. "If you can't remember what the old John Tyree did, let me remind you. He would jump in after a child just like he would jump in after a bag!"

The Reverend Booth spoke up for Savannah with a short, "I say…"

I shot him down with, "Back off Reverend I don't want to cause you any trouble in front of you children. You know what I mean?"

I turned my focus back on Savannah. "It was after I hit the water and was going after the kid that I remembered the bag, your bag. Why didn't you tell me Savannah! Why?" I punched the air in futility, "Why didn't you tell me we had already met? Why didn't you tell me you had memories I don't? What's so bad that you didn't want to help me get them back? Or are you enjoying watching some stupid army guy trying to regain his past and think it is some sort of joke or game?" I was still pissed, but also felt sorry for Savannah. I wanted to say "I love you, Savannah' but could not. I could not understand why she did what she did, and it hurt deeply: very deeply. Out came, "Don't you think I have feelings to? Don't you think I care about the past? Why didn't you give me a chance? Why didn't you?" There were tears streaming down my face. I was so upset. Savannah sat there with an ashen colored face, saying absolutely nothing.

Getting no reply and running out of feelings I turned around and walked out of the house. The tension and nausea I had been feeling all the way back from Wilmington was still there as I walked out and drove the short distance home.

I showered, changed, saddled Blackie and walked over to the arena. I put on Phantom of the Opera CD and cranked up the volume. I rode Blackie hard about the arena for a long while. I felt anger, frustration and betrayal. I was trying to work out a plan, any plan. Us army guys always need a plan. At this time, nothing was coming to me. I washed down Blackie, took him back to his stall, went to my room and got absolutely drunk. At least with drink you are never alone.

On Sunday, I didn't go to church or have lunch. I went for a long ride on the Harley. I wanted to be alone and far, far away from a girl named Savannah.

* * * *

On Monday, at the end of our usual business breakfast Bill had one last bit of new business. "Had a call from Mrs. Bohannon." There was a long pause. "Seems she is not happy with us helping her out with Spot and has asked me not to go over any more. Seems she has asked Attie to come by and help and is paying." Bill was looking out the window when he added the next bit, "Seems Mrs. Wheddon has left for home yesterday. Sudden like." He did not need to elaborate; we both knew why she had left in such a hurry. Even though I was the cause of her departure I felt a deep loss and sadness sweep over me. It was as if I had lost a piece of me. "Never heard Mrs. Bohannon so sad as I did when she called so I went over. We had a good heart to heart chat. She is a sweet and kind old bird, wouldn't harm a fly."

I was thinking nasty thoughts about Mrs. Bohannon, obviously I had not seen her nice side. All I got was the sharp end of an over-and-under shotgun!

"She said she will really miss having little feet about the place. Seems they gave her a reason to get up in the morning." Bill was staring out into the distance through the window while I kept my mouth shut. This was not a good time to argue my point. If Savannah chooses to leave, that is her choice, not mine. If Savannah chooses to go back home, that is her choice, not mine. If Savannah chooses to take her children and leave, that is her choice, not mine. If Savannah chooses to not tell me about the past, that is her choice, not mine. Despite it all, I missed Savannah.

I asked Bill if I could attend the January and February 2009 Buster McLaury's horse starting clinics as one of our 2009 goals was to offer partly finished horses. These winter workshops were going to be held over at the Muncaster's Diamond M Ranch down in Gainsville, Texas. A partly finished horse commands a higher price at auction than a halter broke one. Bill had been around too long to fooled, he knew I was angling to add more distance between me and Savannah. Begrudgingly he agreed to January only. He thought if I couldn't get it in one month, the second would be a waste.

That Monday evening a cold front blew by dropping the temperature down in to the low 30's. Knowing the front was coming we had pulled all the horses into the barns and made sure the cows had enough shelter out in the pastures.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008 was the full moon date. Despite what had happened I was planning to go riding that night even though it would be cold. When I saddled Blackie up I had on six layers on top and four on the legs, including my thick chaps. Around my neck was a silk handkerchief I had found in Spot's barn and forgot to return to Savannah, and I had on an old felt hat pulled down low. With a warm horse underneath me, I was ready for a cool ride.

Why I went I don't know. I sort of had a feeling it was partly out of respect for the old John Tyree, not wanting to let him down, and partly out of missing Savannah. Also, somewhere loitering about in the back of my mind, I was still wondering if the girl old John Tyree was mooning about was Savannah. A long shot, but it felt good to hope along those lines. I tried to steer Blackie away from Knowles Rise, I was not trying too hard and that is where I ended up. There were good memories about this place. Good memories and a clear sky equaled a dazzling display by the moon. It was so clear that I could make out certain craters on the moon. I was amazed at the heavens and forgot my cares and worries when I put everything into perspective. I should be thankful I was alive, active and had the good fortune to be blessed with an honest job.

Surveying the surrounding area, I could see for miles. As I turned this way and I mentally went through all the people I have come to know. The list of names was long. I really felt good being here and being part of the community.

Then I wondered if Savannah was out looking at the same moon. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking of the old John Tyree?

There was a knife sticking in my stomach turning this way and that over my handling of my regained memory. I looked down at Mrs. Bohannon's place and wondered if I handled myself properly. Could I have approached Savannah differently? The tough question was, what would I have done in her position? To be honest, I'm not sure if I would have done much differently even though I hoped I would so not ending up like Savannah being chewed out by someone irate as I was. This was one situation not covered by Dr. McGonagall.

As they say, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I was up on Knowles Rise for a good while mulling over things. The quietness and peace helped me put things in perspective. At least Attie and I were still talking.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

The following Saturday I drove Blue the short distance to the Jones Ranch and at the usual spot was Attie, she was waiting for me. She was very quiet and stood away from me as I backed Blue out of the trailer. News travels fast about these places. I pulled out some cash and started to count just how much I stuffed into my jean pocket.

"What's all that for?" Attie asked

"For a bet."

Surprised at that response she asked the next logical question, "On who?"

"On me."

"O.G., that's stupid, you never win anything."

"Tonight will be different." With that I walked off to see a bookie about a bet. I had nothing to lose except my own money and now I had little to live for, so why not move to the edge and see what was there.

The Jones rodeo is not large but there is always someone willing to take your money on a bet. I walked over to where the bookies hung out and spied Jim Halliday. He had been a bookie a long time and had done pretty well. He was sort of retired from the business but kept coming out to our small rodeo to take our small bets. I guess the money he made from us was pocket change to him.

"Hay Jim," I said. He had an engaging smile which he never lost even when taking your last dollar. "What's the odds on me roping today?"

"Hello son, fancy your chances do you?"

"Always," Was my confident reply.

"At least you talk the talk even if you can't walk the walk." He chuckled at his own little joke. I thought it was pretty good.

"Good one. So, what's the odds?

"You serious? You want to lose money? Okay, I'll be happy to take all you have and I'll give you plus two-hundred." He thought a bit, and said, "No, because I like you, I'll give you plus two-hundred and fifty."

"Not bad, even for you." Then I asked, "What if I win?"

"O.G., you are a funny one. You can't rope so what makes you think you can rope and win? You been taking a tipple and fancy your chances?" I stood my ground and looked at Jim. "You serious son?"

"Sure am, Jim. I want to know what the odds are for me to rope and win."

"Son, I'd be embarrassed to take your money. Go and have a good time." Jim wanted to get me out of the way so he could do some business with some of the others milling about. I suppose talking to me made him miss taking other bets.

"Jim, give me the odds, or don't you have anything down there?" I glanced down at the top of his jeans and gave him a questioning glance.

"Son, move along before I get angry…"

"What's the odds old man?" I said in a raised voice. Others stopped talking and started looking our way. "If you can't give me the numbers then what are you going here taking up space?" I had him riled and I knew it.

"Okay son, you want the odds, they are like this." Jim had taken a belly full and let it be known he was there to do business, "You to win is plus three hundred. No, I'll do better than that since you are full of it tonight. I'll make that plus four hundred!"

Still in a raised voice I replied, "About time you put the numbers down. Why not plus five hundred or don't you have the bottle?"

He cut back with, "Even you aren't worth that risk."

I dug into my pocket and pulled out ten one-hundred dollar notes and counted them out. There were quite a few eyes counting along with me. I received my receipt and immediately several others put money down on me to win. Heck, if I'm good for a thousand, there must be something going on. Jim dropped the odds immediately after the initial flurry of activity.

I liked the odds and now had to deliver. I honestly felt lady luck was smiling on me. I was going to change things up.

I had pulled third to last tonight and had to cool off walking Blue about outside the arena. The usual guys were in the competition and were putting in their usually good times. The atmosphere was good and the crowd was having a good time.

By the time my try came up the noise of my bet was out.

Rather than my usual cowboy hat, I had on a baseball cap, reversed, a roper's glove and a new pink rope in my mouth. I had changed it up. I loosened Blue up by riding him for a while. When it was my turn we entered the arena and I walked Blue over to the box and backed him in. Rather than the usual Phantom of the Opera few bars, over the intercom came a montage of music from the film. Someone had been very busy and very cleaver putting that lot together. Then Attie's father boomed out, "And here is our very own John O.G. Tyree! So far he has missed everything, but tonight he feels his luck is about to change. We wish him well."

I stood up in my stirrups and yelled, "Give me some noise!" and waved my hands upwards. Attie's father came back over the intercom with, "Come on, let's give him some noise!" With that someone put on _We Will Rock You_ on the intercom and the crowd started to stomp the bleachers. The noise picked up and I backed a very excited Blue back to the rear of the box.

I closed my eyes to say a quick prayer. I touched my dog tags, and gave the nod. The calf shot out and Blue was out like a rocket. We must have been real close to illegal because I had never been this close so early. Blue was perfect and it was now up to me. I had the rope swinging the minute we were moving and in the second swing I let loose. Damn it was perfect. This time I jerked the rope tight, Blue stopped and I was off and down the rope. The calf was still swinging back when I picked him up and thumped him to the ground. I knocked the shit out of him. Right leg in the right place and round went the rope and up shot my hands into the air.

I was pumped! I was worse than pumped! I left the calf and started to walk round the arena yelling and pointing at the crowd. The crowd was yelling and pointing back at me. Someone upstairs put on _We are the Champions_ over the intercom. It was pandemonium. It took me a while to make the rounds when it is usually over with within two minutes or so. Not this time. Finally I got back to Blue and gave him a big hug, collected my ropes, got back into the saddle and did one last lap waving before exiting the arena. It was then that I noticed my time; it was 8.70 seconds which put me in first place.

I hung on the railings while the final two cowboys had their go. They were good, but not good enough.

I was not in any rush to collect my winnings, I thought there might be a little trouble collecting such a large amount at a time like this. Rather than try, I went round to see Jim Halliday for a brief chat. His face was two miles long. He had lost years of small pickings. I told him I'd be by to collect the cash on Wednesday. Give him time to get the money together. Halliday studied me hard; I could see questions in his how he talked to me. By the way he was acting, I half expected him to accuse me of cheating.

Attie was waiting for me over at the trailer. She looked at me oddly. "Have you been holding back? Never seen you so fast."

"Attie, I wouldn't know how to hold back. Every try was my best. That's all I know."

"What changed?" was her question. Then the penny dropped and she said, "Oh, yes." She knew what had changed: everyone knew what had changed.

"Look, I hope you don't mind me taking care of Spot. I couldn't say no to Mrs. Bohannon. And she's paying me well for the work. And I could use the money"

"Look Attie, I messed up and that is that. Spot is easy work and if the money helps, go for it. At least you are getting paid, we were charity." Changing the topic I asked, "How was the football game?"

"Good, I had a good time,"

"How was Jose?"

"He's good." Attie was acting very noncommittal.

"So everything was good?"

"Yeh, it was good."

Sometimes being a little older and understanding how to turn the conversation away from you, helps. I had just done that with Attie and she never even knew it happened.

So I pushed on and asked, "Going to see him?"

"I see him most days at school."

"And was that Jose going over to Mrs. Bohannon's place to help you?"

I caught Attie totally off guard. I knew I was pushing her button. "You following me?"

"Nope, but you better tell Jose to wait a while before following you to Mrs. Bohannon's ranch. One minute isn't long enough to fool even a blind bat."

With a wolfish grin Attie added, "Like you riding over to meet Savannah." I gave her a hard look and the grin disappeared from her face, "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"It's okay. Like I said, we all make mistakes; some are more stupider than others. That one was a major mistake."

"You know Bill is going to take Mrs. Bohannon up to Lenior so she can be there and help."

"No, I didn't know," That knife in the stomach was turning again, "I guess she doesn't want anything to do with me."

"O.G., what are we going to do with you?" Attie put her arms about me and gave a gentle hug. I only wish I knew the answer.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Early November was tough due to some bad weather that stayed in the area for a while. Because of the bad weather we were busy doing some of the jobs we'd normally leave for December. Some people put it down to global warming, all I could say is I'd love to have some global warming when the rain is pelting down and you can't feel your toes and your horse wants to go back to the barn and you have lost a calf.

On my desk calendar I had Thursday, November 13, 2008 underlined as the full moon date. I had been eyeing that date since the first of the month. I pretended to myself that I didn't care and would ignore it. That was a lie. I did care and I couldn't ignore it. Whether it was Savannah or not the old John Tyree went mooning over, I couldn't let old John Tyree down. For better or for worse we were one.

That evening, at the dinner table, Bill was talking about the ranch in general terms. I was not paying much attention to his ramblings until he started talking about feeling a bit old. My ears picked and my head bent a little lower. Bill prided himself on his ability to keep going. He would joke the only way he'd die is with his boots on and still sitting in the saddle. On the other hand, he was no spring chicken and Mary dearly wanted him to slow up and do some traveling in their RV that was gathering dust in the barn before it was too late. If Bill was thinking about easing up that meant change and change meant I could be out of a job.

Just as we were finishing our peach cobbler and ice cream, Bill asked, "Going for a ride on Blackie?"

I had to smile. There was not much Bill did not know about. Playing about I replied, "Maybe I will, and maybe I won't."

"Make sure you check Blackie's shoes, he threw one the other day and I put it back on."

"Yes boss," I said with a grin.

"And try and be back at a decent time." Then turning to Jose he asked, "Are you going out in the truck for a short while?"

"Maybe I will, and maybe I won't." Jose said in a very good copy of my voice.

"Oh, I give up with you to rambling about. Go on and get out," As we headed to the door Bill yelled, "And be back at a decent time." I pointed at Jose and said, "He's talking about you."

"I heard that," Yelled Bill at the closed door. Jose and I laughed as we headed out separate ways.

I headed to Knowles Rise taking a circular route because it was longer and gave me more time to think. Tonight the moon was mostly hid due to the continuing clouds. Every now and again its light would poke through a break in the cover. It made for a weird pattern.

I was thinking it was time to make some proper plans. I mean, I was just drifting along enjoying life… sort of. I had no goals, no real ambition and no real future outside the ranch. And if I was reading the tealeaves right, my job could be getting shaky.

I had to ask myself, "What did I want out of life?" That made me wonder if I had any ambition before my accident? Joining the army is a two edged sward. Did I join because I wanted to? Did I join because I had to? Or did I join because there was nothing better going on? With no answer I had to pretend I joined because I wanted to better myself. Then why didn't I go to college? Thinking rhetorical questions gets stupid after a while.

Then I thought of Heather and Attie with their planning and goal setting. Obviously Heather didn't get to be a captain by falling there. That must have been hard work. And Attie always making sure she is on top of things. So, where did that leave me? So I asked myself again, "What did I want out of life?"

I guess I was trying to find some purpose to life without Savannah. Without Savannah there would be no marriage, no family, no home, nothing to look forward to after a long day's work. I gave a little shudder; the thought of being alone was not very appealing.

With Savannah there was something solid and tangible worth fighting for. A house with a white picket fence, a minivan or SUV big enough to haul the kids to school or to the dentist or off to soccer practice or piano recitals. And maybe, just maybe a child of our own. With that dream of the future gone, what was left?

The moon poked through the clouds for a few minutes so I looked up. I wondered if Savannah was looking up at the moon just now.

With a big sigh I started heading home. I really needed some sort of plan. I was not totally without a plan. The only one that took my fancy was a degree in Range Management down in Kingsville, Texas, the home of the King Ranch, at Texas A&M Kingsville University. With my high school diploma and with money from the army, I could do it. Doing it was another thing.

A week later, at our normal weekly meeting Bill informed me that Savannah gave birth to a healthy baby boy on November 13, and that mother and child were doing fine. I was glad that everything went well. On the other hand, the good news made me depressed knowing that I'd never be seeing her again. Chasing after three kids in dippers will not be fun!

Since Kingsville seemed to be a reasonable choice I wrote a letter to the College of Agriculture at Texas A&M Kingsville to see what my options were.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Early December old man Jones gave me a call. He said to come over if I was in the area. Since I lived virtually over the road, I was always in the area. I told him I'd pop over after supper. Mary was going to make my favorite, King Ranch Chicken. After a plate full and a generous helping of peas I wandered over to see what old man Jones had on his mind.

I used the truck, just in case I'd run in to Crystal or Sapphire. That way I could keep my options open. When I pulled in I scanned the area for their trucks, they were gone.

Old man Jones was in the den waiting for me.

"Good evening Mr. Jones,"

"Hi O.G. good to see you, take a seat and grab yourself a beer," Old man Jones said waving his bottle at a cooler close by. He was watching some football game on the wide screen TV he bought himself for Christmas and couldn't wait to install it. I took a lite and opened it and sat down. Old man Jones liked the easy life, then again he had earned it the hard way.

"What can I do you for?" was my opening question.

"It's to do with Halliday." The mention of the bookies name brought with it an empty feeling. I was rich and now poor and now I was waiting for the next shoe to fall.

"I think we are going to have some problems with him." I took a long drink out of the bottle: it did not help.

"Seems no one has seen him for a few days. Not to say he has run off, no, just that no one has seen him about. I checked out his house and no one has been there for a few days. So I have put a few feelers out to see what the word is."

I studied the inside of the bottle and muttered, "Easy come, easy go," shrugged my shoulders and finished off the bottle. I reached for a regular brew this time.

"O.G., I gotta ask you one thing, were you sandbagging? First you goaded Halliday into giving you a good price and then, then you nail him. Nothing personal between you to?"

I smiled at old man Jones, "Nope, I'm an open book and you can track my record all the way back to Germany. I have nothing to hide and I have no axe to grind with Halliday. I picked on him just like he picks on the ignorant fools he chases and then badgers into placing a bet that is too big and not worth a hill of beans. I think it was fair justice. And, no matter which way you look at it, I still had to deliver: and I did."

"Still a lot of talk about sandbagging going on about here."

"Then go and check my record in Germany. Herr Fritz will tell you how bad I really was. He's seen me from the beginning, then ask Bill. He's helped me practicing at the ranch."

"I have, I've done just that. But I wanted to hear it from you. I have my reputation to consider about these parts and don't want a sandbagger creeping in. That's why I'm on your side with this one. Deal straight and you will be okay."

"So what has that got to do with Halliday?"

"At the moment nothing, but people talk. I'm sure you heard the gossip about the Reverend Booth. It turns out the owner of the shop where his wife bought the guns was his, not her, uncle. And the owner of the gun range owed the Reverend Booth money from an old business partnership they were in that went bankrupt. Makes you wonder what the truth is." He continued, "I don't want you to get blindsided by things out of your control. The item at the top of the agenda is finding Halliday. I think I have tracked him down. He is a man of habit and you should get your money."

"The money would be nice, but what would I do with it? Nothing much to spend it on." I said in a monotone voice.

"Son, you are one stupid idiot. You can't see your hand in front of your face. You and those two of mine are always thinking the grass is greener on the other side of the hill. One day life will slap you in the face and then you will realize you missed the point." I didn't have a clue what he was talking about and didn't want to ask just in case he realizes I am a real idiot: so I nodded in agreement. Then came an interesting question, "How come you never hitched up with Crystal? See seemed to like you?"

That has been a consistent pain in the side issue. No matter how I played it, I never could get anything going with Crystal. "Mr. Jones, to be honest I tried. You don't realize the number of times I tried, but things seemed to take us in different ways. I guess it ain't meant to be."

"Son, I know what you mean. Some things ain't meant to be. What about you and Mrs. Wheddon? I hear she has had a lovely bouncy baby boy. You can't get much better than that girl."

A black cloud descended over me. With a heavy sigh, I commented, "That's a sore topic. I mean a sore topic. I'd like to drop it."

"As you wish. Just don't let it drop too long. She will go in a flash and then you will have to live with it."

I opened my mouth and wanted to argue who was at fault, then I thought better of it and shut my trap tight. I tried my old dodge and changed the topic. "How do you know Herr Fritz?"

Old man Jones chuckled, "Son, I was in the war and knew him and his father. All that was a long time ago. We keep in touch and so I called him. He said you were the worst cowboy he had ever met. Said you almost fell off the horse several times. I wish I was there to see that. Now you are glued to the saddle and ride good. But you should have seen his father. He was good, really good. Then again Bill and I worked on him quite a bit. But all that is another lifetime ago and no one cares to hear the ramblings of an old man. Oh, and by the way, a good move in changing the topic." The contented smile on his face told me I'd have to be pretty sharp to pull one over old man Jones.

"Thanks for coming over. Being of the old school I'd rather do things face to face. More personal than over the telephone."

The interview was at and end and so I stood up and said, "Thank you for your time and looking after me. I appreciate it."

"Your welcome." I left old man Jones watching the football game on his big screen TV and walked outside wondering what his girls were up to. The harder I wondered the more I thought about Savannah.

Friday, December 12, 2008 was the full moon date. Rather than fight it I made plans to head out for a ride.

That evening Mary had made lasagna for our meal. Somehow Attie found out and made sure she was visiting her Uncle Bill when it was supper time. She joined us and tucked in to a small plate of salad and a large plate of lasagna. Bill commented on how the young can eat and it never sticks while all he has to do is look and he adds pounds on. I was thinking, "Age is a cruel taskmaster."

After the meal was cleared away and people were settling in front of the TV I slipped out and over to the barn. It was a cold and cloudy night so I added on a few extra layers before getting Blackie ready. I had him in the barn so saddling was easy. Just as I was about to get in the saddle Attie came into the barn.

"Where are you off to?" She asked.

"Oh, just going for a short ride," Was my noncommittal reply.

"Can I come along?"

What could I say except, "Sure." Attie got a big smile on her face and raced over to her pickup truck with the trailer on the back. I was wondering why she had the trailer when all she was doing was going over to Mrs. Bohannon's place to take care of Spot before our meal. She backed Spot out of the trailer and rode over to the barn. I could tell she was trying to smother a large smile by acting all innocent. It did not work. I must be like some old book: easy to read and understand. I know when I'm defeated, so I accepted her company.

"Are you warm enough or do you need some thermals on?"

"I'm good, but I'd borrow your Carhartt vest."

I retrieved it from my room and handed it to her. It was way too big, but they are worm. I left the barn light on as we headed out into the cold winters night.

"Where are we going?" Attie asked.

"Oh, about. Here and there. Nothing special. Just fancy going for a ride."

"Ah huh," was all I got out of a knowledgeable Attie. Then she asked, "Is it a full moon tonight?"

I slapped her on the arm and said, "Who's been talking to you?"

With an airy voice she said, "Nobody… why? Should there be someone?"

"Attie, Attie, Attie… what am I going to do with you? You are too smart for your own boots."

We rode on in silence, just listening to the horses move over the land. The cold air showed the breath of the horses as well as us.

Finally Attie brook the quietness, "I hear you will be off to Texas in January."

"Yep… How to train a horse from the ground up. Should be good."

"You'll be gone a month."

"It will quickly pass and then I can start doing the training here. Bill feels it will enhance the ranch and bring in a higher price for the horses." There was no real enthusiasm in my voice. I was going through the motions of talking as against actually having a conversation.

"That's a long time," Attie said.

"Not as long as you were gone last summer," I replied quickly.

"Not the same."

"How so?" She lost me on that statement.

"You are asking to go while I was sent."

"Oh, I see what you mean." We fell back into silence as our horses walked on.

When Attie's cell phone went off Spot did not flinch at the extra noise. He had been properly sacked out. She popped it open and I listen to one side of the conversation. I was curious when she said, "Yes, I'm with him now." Then, "Yep we are on our way to Knowles Rise." When Attie asked, "Do you want to talk to him?" After a pause Attie said, "Oh, Okay." Evidently the person on the other end did not want to talk. I had a good idea who was on the other end so I didn't bother asking and Attie did not offer a name.

When we got to the top of Knowles Rise Attie asked, "Why do you come here?" With low clouds and little moon light made you think you are on top of the world as you gazed over the lights dotted about the countryside. I stood up in the stirrups and looked about. I started to point out familiar landmarks and then started to name the places were people live, including Attie's parents ranch.

"I think I like coming here because it feels like home." I half turned in the saddle towards Attie and added, "And I come here to think. I've done a lot of thinking lately and I think it's time to do something with myself.

"I doubt if I'm going to get any more memories back so I have to start looking forward and make a life out of all this." In a mocking voice I added, "No more mooning or planning… just doing." Then in my normal voice, "You have a lifetime ahead full of rich moments. I'm starting off at the ripe age of thirty and a bit. That's a lot of memories lost. So, enough of the past, I'm going to make the most of the future. The down side to the future is change. Things have to change so I can open doors that are shut at the moment."

I think I lost Attie somewhere along the line because she didn't ask any questions. If there was one thing about Attie, she is always asking questions. Finally she said, "How big a change?" Maybe I didn't loose her. Maybe she was thinking over what I said.

"I'm thinking pretty big."

"Be specific O.G."

"At the moment nothing is specific. That is what I'm working on. I've made the decision to do something, now I'm working on what that something is."

"Will it mean you will move away?"

"Maybe it will Attie. Maybe it will. There's not a lot to keep me here except the job. Bill keeps telling me I'm a menace to society since I'm still single. You are off chasing boys and old man Jones keeps asking my about Crystal who I never see."

Quickly Attie said, "What about…" then she stopped. Then she started again and changed the sentence entirely, "What about your friends?" The substitution of 'friends' for 'Savannah' fooled no one, even though I appreciated her effort in saving the moment.

"Okay Attie," I said pushing on with what I wanted to say, "Lets look at you. Seventeen, junior in high school. In May 2010 you will graduate and in August go off to college. Am I right so far?" Attie nodded. "Four years later you will be twenty-two with a degree in something. Most probably you will be off somewhere to use your degree and be dating seriously looking at the eligible men. Yes there is a chance you would stay here if you got a degree in, say teaching. Even if you did, you'd have your own place. At twenty-two you want to get out and explore the world. There is much to see and do. Much more than here. By the time you are twenty-six or twenty-eight you will be married and starting a family. That is how life should be. That is the plan of happiness.

"Now lets look at me. Thirty and a bit. I have a high school diploma and nothing else. Ex-army with no readily marketable skills. Willing to learn and turn my hand to, but that only goes so far. I have a bunch of great people here I have come to love and admire. I have a good job that pays okay with no prospects of great advancement. Say some girl, like yourself, came along and we wanted to get married. My salary would not cover the cost of having a family. If we both worked, then maybe we could make it and I mean, maybe.

"I don't want to sound cold and heartless, but this is reality. To live costs cold hard cash and to earn good cash requires a good degree. And I don't have one. I want to be in a position to look after my family, not struggle from paycheck to paycheck all the time. I want to have the chance of having a wife and kids waiting for me at the door when I get home from work. I want to have a regular family. I mean, look at your family. Your father has done very well because he went to college and came back and made good decisions. It can be done, and it is best done with a good degree."

Attie had a glum look, "When will you be going?"

"Don't know yet. Still making plans."

"Where does Kingsville fit in?" I jerked up and looked at her. "The mailman is a cousin," she added.

I had to laugh, then I added, "Attie, just join the FBI, they need people like you who can find out anything." I thought for a moment, and then added, "What don't you know?"

"Not much O.G, not much." She said with a sign, and I believed her.

"Come on, time to be heading back." We turned the horses homeward bound. Horses always know when they are going home because they always pick up the pace without you doing anything.

I had received a latter back from Texas A&M at Kingsville and things were moving along. There was no way I wanted to go for the spring semester, I was thinking if I made the move it would be in the fall. With that option looking more and more appealing, I had to make a decision. What did I want to do?


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

It was Christmas Eve 2008 and I was in my office killing time watching the YouTube tape over and over again. I wanted to remember so badly. I was hoping that something would come. I was looking for a miracle. It never came.

About three in the afternoon the phone rang. "Hello, Circle O Ranch, can I help you?" Was my stock in trade statement.

"Hay, is this the Circle O Ranch?" said a voice that sounded like it had marbles in it.

"Yes, Sir. This is the Circle O Ranch, how can I help you?"

"I'm looking for my friend John Tyree. Does he work there?"

"Yes Sir, that's me."

"That you John? You don't sound the same." Marble voice said.

"Yep, this is John Tyree. Who am I talking to?" My interest level was rising.

"This is Tony Fonzarelli from New York." That name registered faintly. "Seems you have been chasing people from the army that knew you. I knew you. We served together." I had just struck gold. I had been going through the names I had gathered from old records and putting out feelers asking for anyone who served with John Tyree to call this number. I had received some calls from people who slightly knew me and they all said Tony Fonzarelli from Brooklyn, NY was the man. I guess someone passed on the word to him because here he was. He continued, "The last I heard of you, you were dead in Iraq. I guess I got it wrong. So what's up and why didn't you call? Why the run around?"

"Tony, it's good to hear from you…"

"Cut the crap out John. It's me Tony: the guy that's saved your ass more times than you can remember so what's up?"

"It's simple. Got shot and can't remember a thing from before."

The line went quiet before he bounced back with, "So what do you want me to do? Kiss you head and make it better?" I was fast wondering what the old John Tyree saw in this pain-in-the-rear guy.

"Hell know," He was irritating me, "I want to know what the old John Tyree was like."

"Are you shitting me? Are you some kind of kook or something? Do you expect me to tell you about yourself?"

"What kind of friend were you?" I said in a raised voice, "Not going to help a friend out?"

"How the hell do I know you're not some kind of nutter trying to steal John's identity?" Was Tony's caustic reply.

"I tell you what, if you want to come down her I'll help to rearrange your eyes for you." I fired back. I was pissed at this guy.

"Hell, you couldn't do it back in the army, why do you think you can do it now? Jerk!" I was standing on my feet looking at the phone. That was it. I mean that was it!

"Listen you. I don't know what type of person you are, but just be glad you are not here because…" I yelled into the phone.

"What? What do you think you could do to me, punk. I'd beat the crap out of you any time of the day."

"Yeh?" I yelled back, "Then get your sweet ass down here right now and I'd give you the whipping of a lifetime."

"Brave words when I'm not there," Tony yelled back.

"Brave words when you get here!"

"Come on out side your office. I'm waiting for you." A calm voice said and with that Tony hung up.

The bum wound me up and I fell for it! What a sucker! I walked out of the office and out in to the parking area and there was a soldier in uniform with lots of colored ribbons on his chest. On his face he had a broad smile.

Pointing at me Tony said, "You deserved that for not calling when you could remember, punk!" His loud New York accent was worse in person than over the phone. He walked over and gave me a hug. "Damn good to see you after all these years. How many has it been? Seven or something like that." I was totally speechless. He wound up, and now… "Aren't you going to invite me in for a drink or something?" He was cool as a cucumber on a hot sunny day. What could I say?

"Ah, sure, come on in. What the hell are you doing here on Christmas Eve?" We chatted as we walked into my office.

"I'm over at Ft. Bragg going through some training. Getting ready for more work in Iraq or is it Afghanistan. It got delayed and now it has to be done before the end of the year. So we are going to work through Christmas to get it done."

In the corner of my office sat a small fridge from which I grabbed a couple of beers and tossed one at Tony. "Hope that is okay, all I have."

He looked at the lite label and said, "It'll do 'til I find a store on the way back to the base that sells real beer."

"You heard about me?" I asked.

"Yep, I heard about you." His tone changed. "I had several calls from old buddies giving me the same story. You honestly can't remember anything?"

"Nothing as in zero."

"You look the same, except for the messed up face. I bet that scares the girls away." Tony drank from the can. "Better than the water I've been getting on base. As I was saying, that's weird not remembering. Like, how do you remember to speak?"

"How the hell should I know, I was only a grunt."

"A grunt that forgot and couldn't continue the mission." Tony said sadly.

"Once I was out of the hospital I found out I didn't know a thing about being in the army. I was worse than useless. They gave me a chance, nothing came back and that was that."

"Not a sausage?"

"Nada."

"Pew, where to begin?" Tony said as he finished off the can. "Got another one in that tiny fridge?" I did and gave it to him.

"Start from when we met. Where did we meet?" I asked.

"When you made Sergeant and I was in your unit. We worked out together and became good friends." Pointing at my arm he said, "Roll your sleeve up."

"Why?"

Come on wise guy, can't you stop being a pain Sergeant for once? Just roll your sleeve up." I did and he started to tell me about the tattoos and which ones we got together and where. Tony drank from the second can and started talking about our time in the army and didn't stop talking for several hours.

Tony covered all the important stuff the official records don't touch. He talked about good times, bad times, and times when we were too scared to think. He described fire fights we were in and comrades that fell. He talked about Kosovo, Germany, 9/11, and Iraq: mainly he talked about Iraq and the hell we went through together.

As we talked I asked him about places I saw in my nightmares. He knew everyone I described, and then he added in the details that were just outside my dream periphery. He filled in the action and told me who was where and the outcome of my nightmares. While I had nightmares only at night Tony saw the same, and more, during the day and night. As we talked I started to see the good side of amnesia.

After a while we had another can, and then I plucked up courage to ask the only question I had. "What about Savannah?"

I asked that question while Tony was raising the can. He froze. He unthawed enough to say, "How did you know about her? I thought you forgot everything?"

"I did, but I haven't been sitting about doing nothing. People know and people talk. I'd like you to fill in some of the missing bits from before."

"You know where she is? Like you know?" Tony could not believe I really knew about Savannah.

"At this very moment she is at home in Lenoir with her three children." I said. It took real effort to remove the sadness from my voice; I hope I did it.

"Oh man, you don't want to go down that road again. She screwed you up badly the last time. Don't get involved with married women. That is worse than deep shit. I know!"

"She's a widow."

Tony's tune changed dramatically at that news, "Oh, so what's the problem?"

"Old history and kids."

"I guess her other half died not long ago and you are thinking about jumping in to his bed. That's a big one." Tony said.

"No, no I'm not."

"Then what are you thinking of doing? Like I said she messed you up bad, I mean real bad. When you got that 'Dear John' letter you fell apart badly. You won't remember that day, that was a real bad day in Samawah… I mean real bad. We were clearing up in some outlying area when we ran into deep shit. Some building was pinning us down and we went in. Somehow one guy survived long enough to give me this," he held up his right hand. It was sort of not right looking with skin grafts on the back. "You were the grunt that wrapped it up and gave me a shot of morphine for good measure. When we got back to our safe area at the railroad station we received mail. It's like going from shooting anything that moves to sitting down and reading a letter from home. 'Cept that was not an ordinary letter you got from her, no Sir. She dumped you in the shit. I mean you got screwed you over and got all screwed up. Dumping a 'Dear John' on you was not right. Not when you are fighting your guts out and not knowing if you are going to live or die from moment to moment.

"I was there only a little longer before I was shipped home with a Purple Heart. But I was there to see the change come over you. From that point on you were more zombie than human. You turned off and did every stupid mission that came along. I kept in touch with the others and followed you for a while. I heard you kept apart from the men and became more a loaner than a leader. That's not good in the army, they like team efforts not Rambo's. Then about February 2004 you were shipped back to Germany. I guess by then you had worked her out of your system. The next time I heard of you was when they said you were back in Iraq and got your head blown away. That would be about December 2007. So you can imagine my surprise when I started getting calls about someone called John Tyree wanting to find old friends.

"By then I was back in the army and pulled a few strings and read some reports and found out your head is a lot tougher than most. Since I was down this way on business, I'd thought I'd visit rather than call. I wanted to see an old face even if the memory is empty."

"The empty memory is the new me and I'm trying to play catch-up," I said, "That's why I'm trying to know, I mean, understand old history."

"That's why you want to know about Savannah. You want to have me remind you what a sick puppy you once were? Oh brother, you have it bad. Why don't you marry the girl and get it over with. You two belong together… no, you two deserve each other because I can't believe I'm here talking about your girl rather than old times and having a few beers!"

"She's not my girl,"

"Hell no? Then why do you want to know how skewered you were?" I guess he saw the look on my face then, after glancing at his watch he said, "Okay. I can spare you a little time to go over the gruesome details, if you want." I wanted and it showed.

"Okay, before I get started give me another beer." I did and settled down for a long story. "It all started after your third trip back to the states in June 2000. We just got back to Germany from a tour in the hell hole better known as Kosovo, you decided to go home to visit your old man…" The story started there and continued for quite a while. I kept butting in with questions and Tony gave me honest answers. The more he talked the more I ached for Savannah. He filled me in through my re-upping because of 9/11 and how it hit Savannah and me. Tony gave me a good blow-by-blow account right into Samawah and his trip back to the states.

During the time we were in my office Tony became my window into my past world. He opened my eyes to the past that no one else could. Not wanting to lose Tony, I asked him to stay for supper. He agreed so I had to dash off and make sure it was okay with Mary and Bill. It was.

About seven in the evening we walked over to the big house to eat. Tony was a huge success. There is nothing like having someone in uniform to bring out the best in people. Bill asked Tony if he was doing nothing tomorrow to join us for our Christmas meal. Tony quickly accepted; anything better than mess hall food.

We talked for a while longer before Tony had to go back to base. I felt like I had met a long lost friend and now hated for him to leave. I asked him one question I was puzzled about.

"Why did you reenlist when you were out with a Purple Heart, why get back in?"

He smiled then said, "It was my cousin Vinny Gambini. Well, not exactly my cousin Vinny Gambini, it was cousin Vinny Gambini's aunt's niece. She was a freshman in university when we started to get a bit involved."

"Involved as in involved?" I put heavy emphasis on the second 'involved.'

"Yeh, now shut up and let me finish. Up in New York there are too many relatives all over the place. It's as if half of Italy lives there and knows you. You can't get away with nothing without someone watching you. The old people are the worst. They sit about looking out the windows at all times. Well, we were seen and that was it. It was bad enough to date someone only eighteen, but she was from the wrong side of the family. Shit! How the hell was I to know which side of the family she was from? You need a bleeding genealogy map to find your way round our lot. So many in-laws, outlaws, then there are the ones in jail, on the run and in the mafia. It's tough living there.

"So, some witch sees us coming out of the movies and my parents drag me in and give me the choice of getting married or going back in to the army.

"Come on, what do you take me for? Of course I chose the army. There was no way I could keep a girl almost half my age happy. She would want to go out dancing and partying every weekend and I'd want to be out drinking and having a good time with my palls. And we would be told to get a move on and have children like good Catholics. No way brother, no way!

"At eight the next morning I was at the army recruiters talking to another cousin about signing up and getting me a good position for reenlisting. He got me this job and no more running behind your fat ass saving you from yourself."

"And the hand?"

"Like I said, the recruiter was family. When you deal with family, there's no problems. I signed on the dotted line and that was it."

I needed a family to fix things between me and Savannah: but I didn't. Still wondering, I had to ask, "What if she was sixteen?"

"Oh, that's bad. Oh, you never do that in my family. Someone would be visiting a relative with mafia connections and your name would be given to them. After that you would be facing a slight accident. Nothing permanent, but a darn sight worse than what you look like today.

"I remember some stupid ass cousin who tried that on some distant relative. He thought the law was on his side when he said sixteen was legal. His nose was all smashed in and she was sent to Sicily where she doesn't speak the language."

"Wow, you guys are tough."

"Not tough, just saying sixteen year olds are not mature enough to make big decisions. Twenty-one is the age we ease up and twenty-five is a good age to get married."

"So I was barely legal by you?"

"You were stupid getting involved when in the army. Then you were even more stupid reenlisting even though 9/11 happened. You had a sure bet and you blew it. Dumb ass… then again we all reenlisted. Easy to look back and call the shots, not then. We were ready to kick ass and get them for attacking us. We wanted to go in and fix people. Then dumb Bush goes after Iraq on a lie: what a mistake. But what the heck, we were only grunts doing our job and now I wonder where we are going with all this. Anyway, time to go and I'll see you in the afternoon."

With that we walked out to his US Army car and Tony disappeared into the evening.

I had learnt more about Savannah than I possibly could imagine. Now knowing I blew it did not exactly help. I walked back to my office, took out the last beer, sat back down in my chair in deep thought and the fact that I have lost Savannah not once but twice.

Tony came over on Christmas Day and we had a great time. Good food and good company. Tony and Bill acted like old time palls and enjoyed each other's company. Funny how, despite different eras, the common bond of serving binds people together. Having amnesia didn't exclude me from joining in, but I could not appreciate to closeness they felt.

I had one present under the Christmas tree, it was from Attie. It was a small white teddy bear whose name is Mr. Mark.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

During the week between Christmas and New Year, Tony came over a couple more of times. I found out Tony didn't like riding horses and could not understand how I did. He distinctly remembers me telling him of a trip I took up to Lenoir and getting on a horse. Tony's stories was so vivid I laughed along with him. Somewhere along the line I changed.

When we parted we promised to keep in touch and I said one day I'd have to make a trip to New York with Tony as my guide.

New Year's Eve was spent tending to animals. Actually they were all okay, I just wanted an excuse to get out of sitting there with Bill and Mary watching the ball drop and then wishing everyone a happy New Year. I didn't feel too happy. I was walking outside when the year came in. There are always people letting off fireworks. The noise built to a crescendo at midnight and tapered off. 2009 had arrived, as usual, on time. With a sigh, I headed back to my room and to bed. I was not too worried about the New Year, not just yet.

I had plans to be on the road to the horse starting clinic early on January 2, 2009. I had to a long way to drive from North Carolina to Gainsville, Texas. Bill let me use the horse trailer that could carry three horses and had nice living quarters up front. This was going to be home for the month of January.

I loaded up the trailer with two young horses Bill thought would be good to work with. I loaded up the fridge and the extra large igloo, stowed away my things and headed down the road very early in the morning. I planned the route to go through Memphis on the way to Texas. Why Memphis? Simple: that's where Elvis lived and I think everyone should go there at least once. Actually I wanted to be there for his birthday but the clinic started too soon.

The Muncaster's Diamond M Ranch was first class with all the amenities that I would expect. Once settled in I wandered about to find Buster and Sheryl McLaury. It was good to meet them again.

Once the clinic started the days were busy and hectic. Buster was well organized and systematic in his approach to horses and helping people understand how to work with horses at this higher level. I knew I was still green behind the ears and my confidence was sort of okay. After listening and working with Buster my confidence grew and when I did things I didn't think I could do. As my confidence grew I felt at home with the horses and what I was asking them to so. With Buster at my side, talking, pointing things out and encouraging, I felt on top of the world. The horses that Bill let me take were progressing and improving better than I thought possible. During the month I would often wonder what Buster could not do: he was that good.

Besides being a great teacher I came to know Buster as a great guy. One word I'd use to describe him would be unflappable. Right behind him was his wife Sheryl. I enjoyed watching and listening to the interaction between the two of them. You could tell there's was a loving relationship.

I kept in touch with Bill through the Internet and via phone. As far as I could tell things back home were pretty much the same.

Since I was in Texas I thought I'd take a quick trip to Kingsville to see the Texas A&M campus at Kingsville. Once I studied a map of Texas, I realized just how big Texas was. There was no way I could do a quick trip. I shelved the idea.

It was a fantastic time listening and learning. I came away fully ready to take on any horse. Saying bye to the other people who were on the course was tough. Through the month we had gotten to know each other pretty well. Then it was time to say bye to the McLaury's. That was difficult after working so close for an entire month.

I returned to the ranch late on Sunday, February 1, 2009. It had been a long drive through some really bad weather. Rather than stopping in the rain and sleet I pressed on. No one was up when I swung the trailer over to the barn. The two horses were anxious to get out and stretch their legs. Because of the weather I put them in the barn: they were not too happy until I got a scoop of feed and hay for each of them. I unhitched the trailer under the shed and parked the truck before heading to my quarters in the barn. I was all done in from a very long day.

After a good sleep I was up early and over to the big house. Mary was cooking breakfast tacos. She was quieter than usual as she cooked. At the breakfast table Bill was also quiet, very unusual for him. No questions about being gone for a month, no updates on things about the ranch, and no Pedro at the table. Since we were going to have our usual Monday morning meeting I help my peace.

After breakfast we headed to his office and settled in. I let him take the lead as I was wondering what was going on.

"Things have been quiet since you were gone," Bill started.

I stayed quiet.

"While you were gone I started on the 2008 taxes and I got to say it was a tough end to very tough year. The economic downturn hit us along with everyone else. The farming side was okay but not the stock raising. People are pushing their cattle to market. They can't afford to feed through this winter. They are taking what they can at the auctions.

"Horses have been bad news. I've never had so many phone calls from people wanting to give me their horses for nothing. They are cutting back and the toy horse has to go. Damn shame. I can't take them so they dump them on the side of the road for the sheriff to collect. O.G. These are tough times for everyone." He continued, "We didn't do too well. If it wasn't for the farming we would have lost money." I could feel where this was going so I continued to stay quiet. "Had to make some changes. Hate to do so as good hands are hard to find." Then he said what I was suspecting, "Had to let Pedro go."

I had never seen Bill so dejected. He sat in his chair with his eyes starting to get moisture in the corners. A while ago Bill told me Pedro had been with him for the best part of twenty five years. Pedro's wife and kids have basically lived on the ranch ever since then which meant the kids had known only this place as their home.

"I gave him six weeks to find a place. He's a good hand and should find something." I was not so sure. Being good and being old didn't necessarily go together in these tough economic times.

I knew what I had to do. It was a no-brainer.

"Look Bill," I said, "Pedro is far better than I'm ever going to be. Let him stay and I'll take his six weeks. A straight swap so you won't be out anything.

Bill was stunned at my snap decision. It took his mind some time to understand what I did and then he said, "No, no, no, I don't think so."

I was not in the mood for discussion, "Bill, there is no other way. I'm single and he has a family. He needs this job and I don't. I can find something somewhere. So keep Pedro and I shall move on. That's how it is and please don't lets argue about this. I've had a good time here with you and Mary. I've grown to love and appreciate you two, and everyone else. I've roped my first calf and what more could I ask for? No, the deal is done so let's not talk about it again. I shall be out by the middle of March so keep Pedro: he's a good man and father."

I could tell Bill wanted to argue so I put on a stern look and glared at him. Bill got the message while he reached for his big handkerchief he kept in his pocket and gave his nose a long blow.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yep, done deal." I said in a final tone.

He let out a long sigh and then studied the countryside out of his window. It took him a while to come around, but he did. I'm glad, I did not want a fight. "Okay, I'll talk to Pedro then."

"Then I'd better start getting things ready and hitting the Internet," With that I got up and walked out. I knew why I made the decision. I could not see Pedro leaving while I stayed. Something are just not right.

All I have to do was kill time until August and then I could start college in Kingsville. With the decision to leave the ranch I also, by default, made the decision to go to school. Funny how things can change on a dime.

The following day, Tuesday, at the breakfast table sat Pedro. He didn't mention what had happened. He didn't need to. I was glad he had a future here on the ranch. After a hearty breakfast I was back in my office to do more cleaning up and putting things away.

The more I looked for a job the more I got worried. 2009 was starting off very shaky. President Bush was throwing money at banks to bail them out and ignoring the little guys and President Obama was promising change.

With only a Harley as means of transportation it meant I'd have to live light and down south until I had saved up enough money to put down on a good truck. To have a job also meant having a place to live. My initial optimism of finding a job was dwindling as the days of February started to move by. My best hope was to sign on with some rancher during spring roundup and hope I could find a place for the summer.

Old man Jones never leaves his ranch. It was a standing fact that you visit him on his territory. No one could remember the last time he set foot on another ranch. And there he stood in the doorway of my office. I fell out of my chair and quickly moved some papers from the only other chair in the messy office.

"Um, Sorry Sir, Um, I don't usually get visitors." I mumbled apologetically.

"Son, I can see why. I've seen bomb sites better looking than this tip. Do you ever clean up?"

Um, not really. Usually I'm busy outside not resting my rear here."

"Damn right. Money is earned out there. Good attitude, son."

"Thank you." I was now at a loss what to say, so I said nothing.

Old man Jones picked up the silence. "Son, I hear you might be moving on? Been wrong on things lately so I'd thought I'd come over and check it out."

"Yes Sir, you have heard right. Bill and I had a talk and felt it was better if I moved on. I have been thinking to use the army's money to get a degree. Even though I'm a menace to society, if I have a degree I'd stand a better chance of getting married and no longer being a menace." Old man Jones smiled at that. I guess he liked the idea of me no longer being a menace about the place.

"Son, I wish you well. What you've done gives me faith that your generation isn't going to ruin the world. Just wished you and Crystal hit it off. Anyway, that is not why I called. I have something here that will ease your transition." He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a manila envelope. "We found Mr. Halliday and he paid up. He was a little reluctant at first until we explained the facts of life to him. I think you will find it's all there."

I held the envelope in my hand and was speechless. "Wow," was all I could say.

"Son, spend it wisely. Too often what comes easy, goes easy." He paused before adding, "And there is one little caveat that goes along with the money. You will not be rodeoing over at my place. I made the agreement for you and I hope you will respect my wishes. I'm getting too old for all this excitement and that damn Phantom of the Opera music." On that note old man Jones rose and slowly walked out of my office. Just as he was leaving he raised his hand and gave a small wave.

I sat back in my chair, opened the envelope and counted out the money. Hot tamales… I was rich!

Once I regained my composure I called Attie. I needed to tell her what had happened because she would be looking for me on Saturday to rodeo. We talked long. She had heard rumors at school of Jose leaving and then not leaving. She wanted to know the truth. She let me talk without comments or questions. I was glad as there were still many blanks in my plans that had not been filled in.

The main question Attie had was, "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

I replied, "Attie, it's time to make a go of my future. Time to do it while I can."

"Okay, O.G." was her reply.

Without any rodeo to go to on Saturday night, I was at a loose end. I thought of taking in a meal and a movie on Saturday so I asked Attie if she wanted to go out for the evening.

"I think I can squeeze you into my busy schedule."

"Good, I'll pick you up about five and then we'd head out." With that done I headed back to the paperwork.

On Wednesday I had to go to the feed store for more sweet feed and feed supplement. Attie's father was in the office when I walked in to the store. He jumped up and came out to greet me. He is usually a quiet reserved person, not this time.

"Glad to see you O.G. Here for some feed"

"Yes Sir." In some ways he intimidating by his sheer size. He was tall and well built in stark contract to a slim and petite Attie.

He put his big arm on my shoulder, "Young man, you are okay." He did not add any more words, what he said made me feel ten feet tall. I was well received at the store by the regular people I came to feel part of. I guess that feeling of belonging was in contrast to the loneliness of amnesia and that is why I knew leaving would be hard.

It was a little before four on Saturday afternoon that I headed over to Attie's father's ranch. I had spent three hours cleaning out the truck so it would be decent to use on a date and not looking and smelling like a work truck. Attie's father made me feel welcome while we waited for Attie. In fact he was down right chatty and relived my very first calf roping event with a blow by blow account.

I was not sure what was keeping Attie. I had called her to let her know I was on my way and she said she was almost ready. I suppose 'almost' is a relative term. I always thought boots, jeans and a shirt was a five minute job getting dressed. Then Attie's father wanted to show me some action packed calf roping from his DVD collection. We walked into his TV room and I was amazed by the number of DVD's he had. There were loads. He was searching through his collection when Attie walked in.

Oh my, Attie looked amazing. She had on a thigh length black dress, small black top, black tights and knee high black boots. In her hair was a dark red ribbon with matching dark red lips. I could tell her father was not too pleased by the way he stiffened when she entered the room. He turned and gave me the evil eye.

I offered Attie my arm and we both said bye and walked out. I was wondering if he would chase me down with a shotgun and drag his daughter back inside and slam the door in my face. He did not. We walked out to the truck and, behaving myself, I opened the door to a very clean truck and Attie scooted over to the middle seat. I jumped in and got out of there fast. Attie snuggled up by slipping her arm about mine.

"Attie, you are looking fine tonight." I don't think I'd ever seen her in a dress.

"Thank you O.G. I wanted it to be a special evening."

My mind started racing about so I asked, "How special?"

She laughed, "Not that special, silly." A big weight was taken off my shoulders. One of the downsides of amnesia was not remembering being with a girl. Closing the door on those thoughts I started the truck and off we went to town. Attie said, "Why don't we go for a meal and then a dance?"

A movie paled when compared to Attie on the dance floor, "Sounds good. Do you have a place in mind?"

"Sort of. I was thinking of Italian and then to the Armadillo."

"So you have been thinking about this and did your homework on the Internet? I should have guessed."

Attie smiled, "Only a little."

"What's the address?" Attie reached over for my iPhone and typed in the address to see where we were going and get audio directions. We chatted as I drove to the restaurant. Attie was nice enough to stay away from my decision to leave. I appreciated her sensitivity in many small ways.

The restaurant she chose was known for its better quality food. The same was true about the Armadillo, it was a well known, and better quality, dance place. Attie had chosen well.

The restaurant was patient with us as we talked more than what we ate. I was enjoying looking at Attie looking so grown up. I was absolutely captivated by the transformation from cow girl to sophisticated woman. We did not eat much, as there was dancing to do.

At the Armadillo we found a place to sit and I bought soft drinks for both of us. There was no reason to have Attie done for underage drinking. Rather than sit and yell at each other above the music, she grabbed my hand and said, 'Come on, let's see what you've got." We headed out to the dance floor and started to do the Texas two-step. After all that dancing with Heather I fell into the swing of the dance and made sure Attie knew I was not green behind the ears.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" Attie asked at the end of the song.

"It's a story that I don't believe, and I was there!" I replied. Then I added, "Let's dance and talk later." We stayed on the floor waiting for the next song. After we got the measure of each others abilities I took the lead and started to change things up. I had a hard time understanding what experimenting meant when Heather tried to explain it to me. I think it was different with her than it was with Attie. With Attie it was fun to try something and get it right and it was a laugh when it went all wrong. It didn't really matter, dancing was just an excuse to be with Attie and have a good time. That evening was one long round of dancing and laughing. In many respects it was our swan song as I could see our paths diverging into an uncertain future.

We stopped at a Dairy Queen on the way home for a chocolate extreme Blizzard. I was a sucker for Blizzards so we shared.

"Thank you for inviting me out," Attie said in between eating a spoonful.

"Your welcome. And you have good taste in places to eat the dance."

"No problem, I just asked an uncle that lives up here what's a good place to eat and dance at."

I had to smile, Attie came from a large family that seemed to have stayed in the general area. It almost seemed as if she had an uncle on every corner.

When the Blizzard was all gone, I knew the end of the evening had arrived. We got back into the truck and headed out of town. Attie curled up on my arm and I thought she was asleep. She was so quiet and still I did not want to disturb her when we pulled into her parent's ranch.

I put the truck in park, snapped off the lights and turned off the engine. Attie sat up and said, "I hope we don't lose touch with each other. It would be such a shame."

"Why would we?"

"Things happen, like you forgetting everything. I just hope we will know each other for ever. You have been so good and kind and special…" She scooted over a bit more to give me a hug and then she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I noticed moisture on her cheeks, on both of them. I was about to reach and wipe them away when Attie said, "I'd better go. You're the greatest John Tyree, just the greatest." She jumped out of the truck and ran to the house. She paused at the door long enough to wave and then was gone.

I sat in the truck hunched over the steering wheel thinking. Actually I was thinking and watching. I was thinking about not much and watching for Attie's bedroom light to go on. It did and then I started the engine and turned the truck around and headed back to my place. Whoever the bright spark was that said, 'Parting is such sweet sorrow' had it about right. Attie will always have a special place in my heart.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Despite being late I was still up for breakfast and then off to church. The topic of the sermon was, 'Balm of solace.' I needed it. After church we headed over to Farmer's Stockade Restaurant for lunch. The topic of the day was about the Reverend Booth and his church. It seems the elders of his church had held a secret meeting and voted him out despite no charges being filed or anything concrete that could point a finger at him. The elders had given the Reverend Booth and his children two weeks to leave the church house he was living in. Bill commented loudly that the Master had said, 'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone,' and none did while this lot of elders did!

On the drive home Bill casually mentioned that back in November he went to check on the other horses that Mrs. Bohannon received ages ago and found them needing hay and has been feeding them ever since. Now that Bill had to tighten his belt things had to change. Since Mrs. Bohannon was due home today he was going to pop over and have a long chat with her and tell her that he could not carry on feeding her horses for free.

I put my foot in my mouth and asked, "Why is Mrs. Bohannon coming back?"

"Because she lives here," Bill replied in a questioning voice. Then he added, "Don't you remember?"

"I do but that is not what I mean. What I meant to say, why is she coming back right now?" Actually that is not what I wanted to say, but it was close enough. My mind was in a whirl.

"Seems things have settled down the other end and she wants to come home," The euphemism of, 'the other end' was nicely done for me. I appreciated Bill and his dancing ability about the very sore topic of Savannah.

For some reason Mrs. Bohannon's imminent arrival had bothered me and I could not place my finger on it.

That evening Attie called while she was over taking care of Spot. She asked what I knew about the horses out in the rear pasture and I told her, which really wasn't not a whole lot. Attie said it seemed that Mrs. Bohannon had forgotten about them since they were way out of sight and no one mentioned them to her. I told Attie to take care of Spot and get home before a nasty cold front hit before dark. She called me from her home letting me know all was well at Mrs. Bohannon's place. I was glad, I did not want her out on a night like the weather man was predicting.

The cold front hit about ten or eleven that evening. The front was a mixture of snow, hail, some rain and a biting wind out of the north. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought I remembered the saying, 'brass monkey weather.'

The next day was Monday, February 9, 2009. More than lightly the last full moon day I'd be seeing from this place as I was planning to move on by late February.

We ate breakfast in the kitchen as it was nice and snug there. Breakfast was quiet as we ate pigs in a blanket and southern style scrambled eggs. The snugness vanished when the back door burst open with Attie rushing in and grabbing four pigs in a blanket. She rapped them in a couple of napkins before giving Bill, Mary and me hugs and whacking Jose in the arm before taking off to school. She did not say a word during her entire appearance at the breakfast table. Typical Attie in a rush on a school day.

"Damnation, I need to call her father about that one," muttered Bill. Jose was rubbing his arm and was trying hard to stifle the grin that wanted to come out.

Everyone was dressed warmly for the day. Since I was still stuck in the office I was not too worried about layering up except for tonight.

It was about ten or eleven in the morning that Bill headed over to see Mrs. Bohannon. Seems she did not come home on Sunday, she waited for the front to pass by. Once home she called Bill and off he went.

By four in the afternoon I had worked my way through a pile of papers. Most were useless and I had tossed them into the recycle bin. Because of my consistent hard work the office was taking on a sparse look. I was almost down to the basic necessary paperwork. About the biggest change I made was to use a daybook. For some reason Bill had not kept one even though his ancestors had. Actually, the idea of a daybook came to me when rummaging through old ranch files and boxes and from a comment Savannah made about Mrs. Bohannon. If a daybook was necessary and needful during the early days of the ranch, then why not now? I bought a top quality Boorum & Pease notebook and had been using it ever since. I only hoped Bill would continue the practice.

I skipped the evening meal and stayed in the office before going over to the barn to saddle up Blackie. I suppose I was trying to ease myself into saying good bye to Bill and Mary by slowly not being about them so much. They had been more like family than what I understood my family to be.

Because of the sudden change in my life's direction each day was starting to take on a sense of finality. Sort of, I better pay attention since this might be the last time I do this or that. Or, I'd better be nice to so-and-so since this might be the last time I ever see them again. I had to work hard to shake off these morbid feelings.

I took my time getting dressed and then out to the barn. Saddling up Blackie was easy as I had given him some extra feed that evening. Despite a strong wind out of the north that dropped the temperature way down low, I was hoping for a good ride to Knowles Rise as the sky was crystal clear.

Getting dressed for this type of cold weather requires imagination. I had bought six chemical hand warmers and four foot warmers. If I'm going out in that weather I was going to go well prepared! On top I was six layers deep while on the bottom I was at four including my heavy duty chaps. I was still using the silk scarf but added a wool one for extra protection. On my hands I had two gloves. With everything tucked in and the chemical warmers going I headed out to Knowles Rise.

Blackie was very frisky in the cold wind. I had to remind him several times that we walk and not take off at the speed of light. Once we got that worked out we settled down to fine ride. The cold wind had blown the humidity out of the air to make the stars sparkle extra brightly and the moon glow that little bit more. It was like someone had polished everything in the heavens just for me.

The walk up the hill was tough as we were going in to the biting wind. I was glad when I swung onto the top of Knowles Rise and pulled Blackie up to a stop. The wind was making a low howling noise as it whistled through the naked trees while the strong moonlight was producing sharp shadows that were gyrating in the wind. The light brown grass was like rippling waves on the ground and every now and again the screech of an owl would pierce through the freezing air as it chased dinner. I felt comfortable sitting there on Blackie as he pulled on the reigns to reach down to eat the grass. I let him.

There was a peace that came over me while I rested on the saddle horn while sitting on top of Knowles Rise. The view was spectacular despite the gray washed out color that prevailed in a full moon.

I was gazing down on Mrs. Bohannon's place. As I did so I let out a long sigh. Despite all the stupid mistakes I could not fault the old lady. All the memories of her place started to take on a rosy tinge. I then turned to look over the Circle O Ranch. It has been a good home to me. In fact I had been very fortunate to find such a place through Her Fritz. I suddenly realized I needed to talk to Her Fritz to let him know what was happening. I needed to keep all the friends I now had.

I then turned over to where old man Jones and Attie's ranch was. I had to smile. These guys had been the greatest. I raised my hand and gave them a fond farewell.

I had been up on the rise for at least thirty minutes thinking and looking. Finally the cold was starting to eat through me despite all the layers and heaters. It was definitely brass monkey weather. It was time to go.

Turning around I suddenly jerked hard on the reins stopping Blackie. I was staring at a ghost rider about thirty feet from me. It scared the bejeebies out of me. I almost fell out of the saddle in surprise. Regaining my composure, I looked to see who it was. I could guess but I wanted to know. Giving Blackie a "click," I walked toward the rider.

The closer I got the faster my heart went. When I got close enough, I said, "Hay Savannah."

"Hay John," was the short reply.

I walked Blackie along side of Savannah on Spot. The anger, frustration and betrayal I had felt melted away as I looked at her face. Slowly I started, "Savannah, I'm sorry how I acted. I had no right…"

She reached across and put a finger on my lips and said, "John, you are right, I should have told you. I guess I didn't know how. Then things changed and I didn't see… didn't know… Geeze, John, you were right to be upset," She paused and then said, "…and I should have told you. I'm sorry I let you down.'

Looking in to her eyes, I felt that falling feeling all over again. I was looking at her with old eyes that had been here before and knew that all was well. I had to tell her before I forgot to say what was on my mind and, more importantly, before I lost my nerve, "Savannah, I don't want to loose you again, I love you. I have loved you, still love you and want to love you forever." The words tumbled out and then I waited for a reply.

"Oh, John," she bit her bottom lip before she said, "I love you." Trying to kiss is easy when there is only two, we had four. The horses were cold and restless from standing still too long.

I said, "Let's go to the barn, it's too cold here." Savannah nodded and we headed down the rise to Mrs. Bohannon's barn. It was the closest and I wanted to get out of the cold.

As we started down Savannah asked, "You were here when I collapsed? And rode down hill flat out?"

"Had to. I wasn't going to leave you there." I said.

"Wow, I didn't realize you risked your neck for me." She said with pride in her voice. "That must have been some ride."

"I don't plan to do it again." I could see a smile of contentment on Savannah's face.

When we rode into the barn I got down to hold Spot steady while Savannah got off. She was so slim after having Tim.

"Do you want to go inside?" I asked,

"Not really, I'd rather stay here for a while." There was not a good place to sit and after looking about Savannah said, "How about the hay loft?" I readily agreed. Savannah climbed up while I went and pulled out several heavy winter coats that Mrs. Bohannon had bought Spot over the years. Spot was one spoilt horse. I climbed up and found Savannah had rearranged the bales of hay to give us good protection from the wind. I threw down one blanket and we snuggled under four others. Once we had got comfortable we started to unthaw slowly.

I was starting to get some feeling in my toes when Savannah poked me in the ribs and said, "Just what do you remember?" Her voice was soft and worm. I melted.

I got a little closer and started with, "I remember you and your friend walking down the pier; I remember you looking at me and saying 'Hi'; I remember some boys and then your bag going into the water and me going in after it; and I remember you watching me swim back to the beach. It was the jump that brought it all back to me in a flash. Then it goes blank. I have a vague memory about a fight at a house on the beach followed by something like you and me in a wood house when it was raining. That's about it for the moment.

Holding her tightly, I asked, "Savannah, look, I don't want to make you do something that will cause problems, I would like to know. I know I have no right to intrude on your past, but, if it has to do with me, can you help me?"

"John, we have a history…" the pause was very long as if she was making up her mind about something. I snuggled a little closer to get a little warmer. It was like she had to make an agreement with someone who was not there. Once done, she started talking with a positive note in her voice. "If you don't mind, I'll give you the high lights now and if you want to know more, I'll tell you later. Deal?"

"Deal."

We lay there in Mrs. Bohannon's barn loft wrapped around each other while Savannah talked and I listened. She started at the pier at Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina in the summer of 2000. I closed my eyes to see the pictures she was giving me. Her voice was melodious and every now and again she would choke up or laugh when she came across something humorous.

It was about 1:30am when Savannah's cell phone went off. She had a look at the number and turned the phone off and added, "Aunt Bess can handle it."

Who's Aunt Bess?"

"Mrs. Bohannon to you."

"When did you get here?"

"Someone had to drive her back. She's not up to that type of a drive. So I brought the kids along." I could tell Savannah was smiling when she added, "They did make a mess in her car."

Savannah turned to face me and carefully said, "Look John, it's a package you are getting. The carefree days of being single are history. You will be sharing me with three others and I can only go so many ways before it gets too much and then I need a break. There were days I waited for Tim to come home and I'd be waiting by the door for him to walk in and give him the twins and I would walk right out. I needed some space. Are you ready for that? And don't forget there are a lot of poopy diapers to change. I don't want you thinking it will be easy, it won't." I could see she was being honest with me and wanting to make sure I knew what I was getting into. Of course I didn't have a clue. No amount of talking can prepare you for an instant family of three.

Jumping in with both feet I said, "There is no way I'm going to lose you again no matter what the price. I'll need your help, I'll make mistakes, I'll goof up, but I know if we pull together, we can do it."

"Oh John, I've missed you so much." It was then that we started to kiss and kiss. As we were kissing there were memories moving about inside. Nothing permanent, just fleeting images and feelings that would quickly come and just as quickly go. It was hard to concentrate on Savannah rather than the memories so I pulled back to ask, "Just how close were we? I'm getting impressions flashing through me that this was not a casual relationship. How close were we?"

Savannah's hand was going over my face, feeling the scars and other features. She did not stop for quite a while. "We were close."

"Close as in…?" I let it hang there.

"Let me carry on and you will understand better."

Savannah picked up her story and I wrapped around her. It felt like we belonged together just like this. I really don't know what time it was when I fell asleep next to Savannah in the hay loft. All I remember was her voice and her warmth next to me.

I vaguely remember some banging about down below and then someone climbing the ladder to where we were.

"Hay, what are you guys doing? Don't you know you are corrupting an innocent mind here!" Attie's voice was sure and strong. "I'm only seventeen and shouldn't be seeing this sort of stuff going on in the barn."

Before I could say anything Savannah piped up from underneath the blankets, "Oh shut up Attie and go and get Tim. It's past his feeding time and I am ready for him."

I didn't have a clue what just happened and started to slide out from under the blankets. Savannah said, "Oh no you don't. You stay right here and start finding out what you have gotten in to. Biology 101 starts right now. When you breast feed a baby, it means you are giving the baby the best food available and it comes from one place and that's me. Help me get out of some of these clothes, I've got too many layers on.

Even though it was cold, the wind had died down so it did not feel as cold as it did last night.

Attie brought Tim over with his diaper bag and a change of clothes. She lingered before Savannah reminded her she had to unsaddle Spot and feed him before going to school. Attie disappeared while Savannah settled back to feed baby Tim.

"I have something for you," Savannah said pointing at her top coat, "In the coat pocket. It's a letter Tim wrote to you."

I was caught of guard and my face showed it, "For me?" was all I could say. Then I blurted out, "He's dead!" I felt like a prize idiot. Of course he was dead. My dumb statement didn't faze Savannah.

"He wanted you to have the letter if I felt it was right. I do and want you to have it." Quickly Savannah added, "I haven't read it. He was very specific and made me pinky promise not to read it."

"Pinky promise?"

Savannah held up her hand and showed me her bent pinky finger and then connected the other one. "Pinky promises have to be kept."

I sat on a bale of hay and opened the letter. It was written in longhand with easy to read penmanship.

_Dear John:_

_If you get this letter it means two things. First, that I am dead. Second, that Savannah feels that I can be of some use by coming to you through a letter. I know it is a poor substitute and I should have spoken to you. Too many regrets and not enough time to right them._

_It was Savannah's father and I that dropped off the horses at my aunt's place. I was so surprised by seeing you there I didn't know what to do or say. Stupid really. I asked Aunt Bess about you that night and found out you have amnesia._

_John, I am deeply sorry I did not have the nerve to come and talk to you as we have had many good chats in the past. I did not know how to approach you when you would not have recognized me or know what I was talking about. I am ashamed to say, I backed away from trying to help, even if it came to nothing. I should have tried. Now it is too late. I'm sorry for letting that opportunity pass, sorry for not trying._

_I won't go into ancient history, just to say we knew each other before your accident. Not fantastically well, but well enough for me to ask you to do important things for me. What they were is of no consequence now, just to say you were man enough to say 'yes' when I needed it. For that and many other things, I have to say, thank you John for being the person you are and the many things you have done for Savannah and myself. I think I can honestly say, without you we would never have married. Savannah might disagree, I see it a little differently._

_John, I have cancer and have decided not to fight the inevitable any longer. I have a little time to live and want to live it without tubes and needles. I would like to live at home with my family and friends until it is time to go._

_Enough of me, lets get down to business._

_I have asked Aunt Alice to invite Savannah and the children to her place for a while. Of course there is a reason. I'm hoping you will rediscover Savannah without any outside influence. You met once, and I am hoping you will meet again. What happens from this point forward I can't tell. Yes I worry about her and the future of our small family. I worry and realize I can not fix the future, all I can do is read my scriptures and say my prayers and let the good Lord handle what I can't._

_Good luck John in trying to regain your lost memories. I hope you succeed. If not, don't live waiting for it to happen, make new memories and go forward. There is a whole world out there waiting for John Tyree._

_I bid you a fond adieu until we meet again._

_Tim._

I read it through two more times and then folded it carefully back up and slid it back into the envelope. I got up and walked about the loft. I stopped by Savannah a couple of times wanting to ask her questions. She was busy talking to Tim in a soft voice as he gazed into his mothers eyes. I was beginning to see what she meant by sharing. I put the envelope away and sat beside Savannah and waited.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

It seems Attie took a couple of photos with her phone camera to share with Uncle Bill so he would know I was safe and sound and would be late to work. Very thoughtful of her.

The photos spread everywhere and by the end of the day old man Jones had called to offer us the use of the chapel on his ranch. Very nice of him.

If I had found Attie, I would have gleefully strangled her. Very original of me.

Savannah, Tim and I walked over to Mrs. Bohannon's house for breakfast. Somehow Mrs. Bohannon wasn't after my hide for keeping Savannah out all night. In fact she was downright civil and even offered me two links of homemade sausage. The twins sat between Savannah and Mrs. Bohannon while I had Tim on my shoulder trying to understand how to burp a baby. Savannah kept looking at me and giving me pointers how to tap Tim's back hard enough but not too hard to get a burp out of him.

Taking things for granted Mrs. Bohannon said, "When's the date? I'm not getting any younger you know?"

I looked at Savannah and laughed. "Who's in on this?" I asked.

In a casual and offhand way she replied, "I really don't know what you mean."

I smiled; I really did not care if there was a conspiracy going on so long as it included Savannah.

After breakfast came cleaning up and then Savannah took off for a shower leaving me and Mrs. Bohannon alone with three children. I was a basket case after five minutes as the kids ran all over the place laughing and playing tag. You could see the twins were close with Tim the obvious odd one out. My head kept turning this way and that trying to keep an eye on them. Mrs. Bohannon was very calm and collected while chaos continued all around her.

"How do you do it?" I finally asked.

"Do what?"

"Stay so calm."

"Oh, when you get to be my age, there's not much that worries you. The kids are fine and happy so what's there to be concerned about?"

I was so glad when Savannah came down and joined the mêlée. My estimation of her rose even higher than before as I started to see how busy life will be. I hovered about watching and listening but rarely offering to help. Finally Savannah patted the floor and asked me to sit down beside her.

"You were the only child and it shows. The only way you are going to learn is hands on." With that she plopped my namesake on my lap. He looked at me then at his mother and let out a long and loud cry. He tried to wiggle out and get back to his mother but Savannah said, "No way. You have to fend for your self. It's feeding time for Tim." With that she picked Tim up, put a blanket over her shoulder and started to feed him, first one side then the other.

Early afternoon was nap time. It was like magic as the children fell asleep. I was ready to join them. Savannah had other ideas and said, "Come on, let's go for a walk while we have time."

We closed the door and walked out into the cold weather. We got close together as we walked. "You okay?" Savannah asked. "It is a bit overwhelming at first, slowly you get used to it. Are you sure you want this?" She was offering me a gracious way out.

"Savannah, I'm not a quitter. I'm in to the end."

"They will push you to the very edge and then some. They may be kids, but they are a real handful."

"All I can promise is my best."

"Okay, then we need to talk about the future. What are you thinking the future is for us?"

"I had some plans but now they will be changing."

"What were you thinking of?" Savannah asked.

"Did you hear about Pedro?"

"No, what about him?" replied Savannah.

I was expecting Savannah to know all the latest goings on even though she was not here. I guess some things are not that important. I told her about my return from the colt starting clinic to find Pedro let go and my decision to swap places and how that had pushed me into making the decision to go back to school as the army owed me four years.

"I didn't know you had done that. That was so kind of you. It reminds me of something the old John Tyree did. Well I think he did. I've never proven it yet." She gave me a sideways glance as we walked. "Have you found out about your father's coin collection?"

"The one that I cashed in and the money just disappeared?"

"That's the one."

"Yeh, I found out about it and can't believe I was so rich and poof it was gone. I'm still trying to track that one down."

"I think I know the answer. You visited me and Tim. Let me rephrase that. You visited me and we went to see Tim in hospital. It was about two weeks later that we were told that someone rich had given Tim a lot of money so we could get him in to M D Anderson cancer center to take part in an experimental cancer treatment. It worked so well that Tim went in to remission. We thought we had made it. That gift made the difference."

"One night I was thinking, there are not that many rich people in Lenoir that we know or actually live there. The only person I knew that had any money was your father and he had died and you were gone. I started to wonder and started to ask questions. I tracked down the person who sold the Tyree coin collection and got stuck there. Your father's collection was worth a tidy sum that was remarkably similar to the amount deposited into our medical account at the bank. Like I said, I can't prove anything, but I have strong suspicions."

We walked while I thought about what Savannah had said. On one hand it sort of made sense, while on the other hand I couldn't believe I gave all that money away. Finally I said, "Okay, easy come, easy go. If I did it, it's all in the past and we start off without it."

"That's the point, it's not all gone…"

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Not all gone?"

"No."

"Oh!" was all I could think of saying. I rejoined Savannah as we walked. "I think I'd better tell you where I am. I have no job, no insurance. On the positive side I have a Harley, four years of free college and a load of cowboy clothes. I also have my winnings from a good bet I made and won. That is O.G. in a nutshell."

Savannah picked up and replied, "When Tim's parents died they left him their estate. When he died I inherited it. My parents live over the road and I'm their only child."

"Is there a college in Lenoir?"

"We have Caldwell Community College and Appalachian State University there."

"I'm okay with that. I'll check out the degree programs they offer and we can go forward from there."

"What about the people here?" Savannah asked.

"They have been better than family to me. I came here with nothing but hope and they opened their arms. I've had an absolute fantastic time here and will hate to leave it. I was planning to head to Texas in a matter of weeks, now I'm happy to go with you to Lenoir. The key thing is being with you."

"Why Texas?" So I explained my plans to work on a degree in Range Management.

"Once you mentioned a degree in special education, but I think you were just talking as that is what I have a degree in."

"I did? I mean you do?"

"Yes I do. That's another story I have to tell you, one day."

Sounding upbeat I said, "I think I'm going to like listening to all your stories. That way I don't have to say much and put my foot in it."

"Oh John." Savannah thought for a moment and asked, "What is it? Should I call you John or O.G.? I mean, we have a John in the family and two John's might get confusing. I don't mind O.G. except when I'm saying Oh, O.G. and then it doesn't sound right."

"Why did you call him John?"

The sudden change in direction and the direct question had Savannah sort of wriggling in embarrassment. I let her stew as we walked. I had no plans to help her out. Actually it was kind of cute to watch!

"Okay. Okay. Okay. You want to know?"

"Yes, I'd like to know."

"I chose the name because of you. You were and are my first love. I can't fight it and it's no use denying it. The coin story is true, so I called him John. Happy?"

"Happy? Hell no… I'm ecstatic!" I had to ask, "Why did Tim go along with the name. Surely he knew."

"Oh, he knew. He knew about us. He was there at the beach back in 2000. He was disappointed by the choice at first then he knew what you meant to me and was gentlemen enough to go along with it. Tim was not an ogre like that. Knowing our second son would be called Tim made things easy between us."

Then it was Savannah's turn to change the topic. "Look, I've been married once. It was a big wedding. I am happy to do whatever you want. Think of it as your choice."

I stopped walking and said, "You know, I haven't proposed."

Savannah stopped, turned round and calmly said, "Then, you better hurry up as it is getting close to feeding time. Tim is as regular as clockwork."

It was out back between Mrs. Bohannon's barn and enclosure that I got down on one knee and formally asked Savannah to marry me. She strung me out hemming and hawing, looking about as if in deep thought. Finally she gave up, smiled and said yes.

We walked back to Mrs. Bohannon's house. Savannah was right. There on the porch was Mrs. Bohannon holding Tim. Mrs. Bohannon handed Tim to Savannah and they disappeared inside.

"Well Aunt Bess, I guess you will be seeing quite a bit more of me."

"About time you two saw reason. I'm not getting any younger. When's the date? How about this Saturday?"

"Isn't that a little quick?" The speed of light just increased by two points.

"Listen sonny, not at my age. It ain't."

"I'll have a word with Savannah," Then I thought, "Don't you need a license or something?"

"Don't worry about a license, I can have one here in ten minutes. I knew several Justice of the Peace and judges in the county." Her words conjured up the classic picture of Aunt Bess with her shotgun standing behind Savannah and me as we said 'I do' to one of her old cronies.

As the afternoon wore on I realized I had not been home to shave, shower, change clothes or take care of Blackie. I was embarrassed and told Aunt Bess I had to go and take care of things. She said she was wondering how long it would be before I'd realize I was looking like a scarecrow dragged backwards through a hedge and smelt like one also. I gave her the evil eye as I left to saddle up Blackie and ride home. Aunt Bess' final words were she'd let Savannah know where I was.

Strange how things turn. One moment I was off to Kingsville and college and now I'm off to get married, have three kids, move to Lenoir and study there.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

That Tuesday evening I drove back over to Aunt Bess' place arriving just before supper. There was a large number of trucks outside which meant a large number of people inside. When I walked through the kitchen door a cheer went up. Savannah came over, "Aunt Bess has invited a few friends over to celibate. She's a party animal." She gave me Tim so she could carry Georgia who was fussing while John was whining and had his two arms raised. He wanted to be picked up but Savannah was ignoring him. "Come on and I'll introduce you to the family." I straightened my baseball cap and entered the fray.

Savannah steered me about the room introducing me and explaining the family relationship. Tim's side of the family seemed to be descended from rabbits from the number of relatives gathered and the ones that sent congratulatory messages. Even though I was marring into the family, Tim's family were after any excuse to gather together and party.

I stuck to soda while Savannah stayed with water and a small glass of wine. The dining room table was loaded with snacks of all description that slowly dwindled. The conversations I got involved with were friendly, jovial and very convivial. To all intents and purposes I was part of the family and made to feel so.

Of course I received strange looks. Over the years I have learned to watch the eyes of the person I'm talking to carefully. Usually, during a two-way conversation, eye contact is pretty consistent. When people talk to me, eye contact is sparse for a while as they check out the scars and other facial features that are, let's just say, unusual. It used to bother me, now I accept it as part of who I am. On the up side, it gives me a chance to check out the women a little bit more thoroughly while they are distracted.

Savannah disappeared once upstairs to feed Tim so I had to handle the twins. I failed and Aunt Bess had to rescue me.

It was about seven when Savannah rounded up the kids and took me upstairs. This was my introduction to the routine of putting the kids down for the night. The fussing; the eye rubbing; the changing clothes; going to the bathroom; scrubbing teeth and then lying down to tell the kids a story. Savannah selected _Corduroy_ as the story to read. I wanted to sit in a chair but Savannah patted the floor for me to join her. She whispered, "Hands on training." She knew there was only one way to learn and that was jumping in with both feet.

Slowly the children fell asleep and she tucked them into their makeshift beds on the floor. We got up and sat on the bed.

"The days are pretty much the same," Savannah said to me. "I know you won't see a lot of change in the kids, but each day there is a little. I don't see it until I look at the photos I've taken and see them bigger and realize they have changed." She put her hand on my hands that were folded in my lap, "Still with me?" her words were saying one thing while the look on her face was saying another. She wanted me to stay.

The realization of what I signed up for was slowly dawning on me. This was going to be a big challenge. Bigger than anything I could imagine. With confidence I said, "I'm in. I'm in and will stay the course."

Savannah put her arm around me and started to rub my back. It felt good. "Hay, what am I doing that for? You need to do my back." With that she sat on the bed and I started to work on her shoulders.

As I worked I wondered out loud, "How close were we? Like, how close?" I added some weight to the last 'close.'

"We were past close. You were my first true love in every sense of the word."

"Every as in every?"

"You were my first."

When Savannah said that I stopped working on her shoulders, took my hands away and got up. I wanted to walk about and absorb what she had just said. There were too many kids on the floor to walk about.

Finally I said in a loud whisper, "That's unfair that you can remember that and I can't. Your first?"

She nodded and added in a mischievous voice, "Looks like it's going to be the same for you."

She had me cold. I was embarrassed because I could not remember us and the fact that I could not remember anything intimate.

Savannah patted the bed and added, "The kids are asleep and here is a bed…" Her invitation was too good to be true but I was sweating bullets.

"Can we get married first?" I asked.

Savannah laughed, "Stalling for time?"

"What if I am? I'm allowed, aren't I?"

"How about Saturday at noon?" Savannah asked, "That will give the family time to get here and then have a small ceremony here at Aunt Bess' ranch?"

"So long as we can get a babysitter for our first night?" I quickly replied.

"Ha, I see how you mind works. Get me along and then take full advantage of the situation."

"Ah, yes, but it will be okay then, we'll be married. Deal?"

"Come over here and seal the deal with a kiss," Savannah said, and how could I refuse such a sweet deal as that.

With the kids asleep it took us a while to go down stairs. As we did we received a few raised eyebrows. Savannah took Aunt Bess aside and talked to her about getting married at her place. She suddenly beamed and went into high gear making plans for Saturday.

The next few days were a blur as we had to get a thousand and one things done.

On Wednesday, Bill took me under his wing and we took off to town to select a tuxedo and a ring. He said that was all a guy was supposed to do besides saying, 'I do'. The tux was easy. Looking at rings was something else. I realized my education in diamonds was zero. Good thing there was the Internet to do my studying. At least I was ready when we did out trip to town.

The Jones girls, working under Aunt Bess, organized the wedding and got everything there on time. They pulled every string known including finding a large tent for the reception. I think they had more fun than what you are supposed to, especially when it was not their money they were spending.

Aunt Bess worked her magic on her house and turned the front room into small chapel.

Attie kept coming over to take care of Spot and slipped out again. I knew she felt left out and I could not find the time to catch her. Finally on Thursday morning I sat in Spot's stall waiting. I jumped up and yelled 'Bo!' when Attie opened the stall and she let out a good scream. I got her good!

"Don't you dare do that! You know how I hate you doing that! You are so rotten!"

"Ha! Got you good Attie." I said with glee in my voice.

She stomped about getting to work on Spot and the stall. Attie was not a morning person and now she was in a huff.

"You coming?" I asked.

Attie rested on the hay rake, "Of course I am. Someone has to be the bridesmaid."

"You are?" I didn't know.

"Of course I am. Who did you expect to do it? Plus I have the photos to bribe my way in." Attie was starting to wake up and get feisty.

"Oh yes, I forgot about that. That was not nice of you…"

"Then don't get caught in the hay loft, silly. What did you expect? A star on your forehead? It took you long enough to find the right girl. She's a keeper."

I sighed, "You to?"

"You to, what?"

"Where you in on it to?"

"Not me. I was looking out for myself and enjoying the company until something better came along. We were tight, but it wouldn't last. Like you said, one day I'd head off to college and you would still be here. That was until you did that stupid nice thing for Pedro. That took guts. Then it would have been you off to college and me stuck here. See, it was not meant to be, but we had a good time. And now shut up and get out while I have this fork in my hands. I have work to do."

I walked out of the barn and went back to the ranch, I had to wrap up everything this Thursday morning and hand in my keys. I told Bill I'd see him at noon at his office.

I walked into Bills office at the appointed time. He was on the telephone and waved me into a chair.

"Hold on, let me put him on the speaker." With that Bill punched the phone and put the handle down. "You still there Herr Fritz?"

"Yes, yes, yes, here I am. That you John?"

"Herr Fritz, I'm here. How are you doing?"

We talked for the next thirty minutes about my time at the ranch and all the things I got up to. It was fantastic to talk to my old mentor. Actually I would call him my first friend that I could remember since my accident.

I finally finished everything with Bill about five in the afternoon. He was through and we kept getting side-tracked onto other topics.

Finally he said, "I guess that's about it O.G. It has been a privilege working with you."With that Bill offered me his hand but I gave him a hug.

"I guess you'll be eating over with Mrs. Bohannon tonight?"

"I will,"

"Hum, I guess that's how it should be. Savannah's a fine lady. Look after her and I wish you both a long and good marriage."

I walked with Bill into his house and gave Mary a good hug and let her know how much I have appreciated her good cooking.

As I was walking out to the truck, Pedro was loitering about.

"I never had a chance to say thank you. What you did was pretty special. I made this for you. I want you to have it to remember us." He gave me a matching tooled leather belt and pocket knife holder complete with knife.

"Wow, Pedro! This is pretty special. I've always liked your work, but this is really nice of you."

"What you did for my family, we will never forget. If I can stay and get my boys through school, I'd be very happy. I hope we can do it now."

"I do to," Was all I could think of saying. The workmanship was excellent as he only used top quality leather. Quite honestly I was speechless. I smiled and gave Pedro a hug: he was a good man.

I used a truck to ride over to Aunt Bess' place about 5 o'clock Thursday afternoon. Technically I was now an unemployed ranch manager and engaged to be married in under forty-eight hours. I was excited and nervous at the same time.

It was remarkably quiet when I arrived. For a moment I thought something was wrong. It wasn't, it was early supper so I gave Savannah a kiss and pulled up a chair. She handed me Georgia and said, "She was a daddy's girl and needs a good male in her life before I strangle her."

"Tough day?"

"Let's just say the kids have been acting up. They know something is going on and want more attention. And there is a wedding to do. You all done?"

I put on a fake British accent and pitched my voice really high to say, "I'm free."

"Oh no you don't!" Savannah had a look of distain on her face, "Don't say it. Just don't say you like that show. Tim loved it…"

"And you?"

"I hated it. Oh no, what am I getting into? Not more of _Are you Being Served?_"

I could not resist, so I said, "And we are unanimous in saying I love you." With that I received a well aimed pillow from Savannah.

"If you children have quite finished," said Aunt Bess, "I for one would like to eat before the place gets trashed with your petty squabbles over ancient BBC shows."

Savannah half looked at me and asked, "You're kidding me, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. I got used to it in Germany and thought it was brilliant. It's the fast give and take, plus the double and triple meaning of everything. During my sessions with Dr. McGonagall she'd explain the subtle British humor to me and slowly it grew on me."

Savannah put down her fork and looked at me, "You have changed, haven't you?"

Glumly I said, "I suppose so," Then I brightened up as I started to tickle Georgia. She giggled and squirmed all over the place.

"What did you expect?" chimed in Aunt Bess, "We all change. That's the only real constant in life. I should know I'm the oldest here and that's all I've seen.

"But not that show," pleaded Savannah. "What about a good American show like _Seinfeld_?

"Oh no, that won't do," cut in Aunt Bess. "Poor quality and nothing funny at all. I always thought it a sick show and biased against women. What about _Sex and the City_ or _Reba_? Much better women shows."

"What about _Hannah Montana_?" I added to the list of female shows. Not a good idea. Both Savannah and Aunt Bess looked at me in horror. Savannah was first. "Are you saying you watch that teenage stuff?"

In a nonplussed way I said, "No of course not. I just thought I'd add it to your ladies mix."

Aunt Bess leaned over to Savannah and said in a loud whisper for all to hear, "You'd better keep an eye on that one. Lock the remote away at night. That's what I used to do with my first husband. He had square eyes."

Feeling outnumbered by two to one I countered, "Hang on a moment, do you know how much TV I have seen in the past month or so? Anyone want to guess?" I stared at the women sitting at the table. No one replied. "I would say conservatively less than six hours."

"Then, what's wrong with you?" Aunt Bess asked briskly. I would almost say she had square eyes as she watched loads of old shows on her satellite service.

"Too busy doing things. Just too busy to sit and do nothing."

"Savannah reached over the table. I took her hand and gave her a big smile. I guess she was getting a different version of John Tyree than what she was expecting. We both had changed in different ways.

It was cold out when we took the kids over to the barn. I made sure Attie had taken care of Spot and had left. That girl was getting too cleaver for her own good. Savannah made sure the twins had on their coats, mittens on strings, woolly hats and a scarf about their necks. For some reason the twins loved looking for and picking up rocks. Not the big ones, just the little ones. They would collect them and hand them to Savannah for safe keeping. Obviously this was a common occurrence as she had several small ziplock bags with her. The twins also liked jumping on the roping dummies that Aunt Bess had outside by the barn. Even though no one ever used them, there they sat waiting for an up and coming cowboy, or cow girl, to learn the ropes, quite literally. As the twins looked for rocks and played on the dummies I held Tim and made sure he stayed worm.

As we walked Savannah wrapped her arm in mine and stayed close. There was not a lot to say as the sun was just about gone and the stars were coming out. Finally I said, "This is good."

"Is it?"

"Yep, I think so."

"Oh John, It's not very glamorous raising kids. A lot of hard work and all you get at the end of the say is a runny nose and a poopy diaper."

"Do I have to say poopy?" I asked. That had been bothering me for a while.

"If the shoe fits. What would you say? You are an objective person, can you come up with something else?"

I laughed. Funny how you have different conversations with different people. I could see most of our time will be spent in discussion over every aspect of raising the kids from poopy diapers to education, to what to eat, and so on. Definitely nothing glamorous here.

"How did my father do it?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I understand my father raised me on his own," I said, "Seems my mother didn't hand about too long, so my father had to do it all alone."

"Your father was a good man. I met him a couple of times."

"You did? You never said."

"And you never asked."

"What was he like?"

"Obviously I only met him after we met, so I don't know all that much about him." With that Savannah told me about her visits to the house and my father. She talked about his steadiness, his routine, and what he liked to eat. A man of habit and a coin collector. I let savannah ramble on about my father and his coin collection. Then I remembered the one coin I still had. It must have been something special to the old John Tyree to hang on to. It was a good evening being alone with my soon-to-be wife and her kids.

Then, on schedule, it was time to head back to the house and start getting the kids to bed. I was finding out, just like my father… just like the army… family life needs a routine to operate at its best. A routine is not fascinating, is not fun, nor flexible when dealing with a family full of young kids.

Back at the house we took the kids up stairs and started the routine again. While working with the twins, I remembered the short story called _The Bound Man_. Is being bound the problem or the means of finding a way to overcome the limitations imposed by the bondage? I guess it is a half empty, half full type of story that made me think about the twins and how to face them. The story made me think: it did not provide the answer.

Savannah fed and I burped Tim. Imperceptibly we were becoming a team. As I tapped Tim's back I asked Savannah my main question, "Are you ready for the new John Tyree?" The question had been bothering me for ages. Without knowledge of my past I could not tell how much I had changed and I did not want Savannah mooning for the old John Tyree which, to all intents and purposes, was dead like her husband.

She studied me for a while, "I have been wondering about that myself. On the surface you are different while in your heart," she reached over and put her hand over mine, "there is the same John Tyree of old. Who else would jump of the same pier twice? Your values, your basic self hasn't changed. I still see the same you even though we both have grown up through different paths. I look at you and see the same smile, the same twinkle and the same approach to life. That is what attracted me and is still attracting me." She paused, "The differences are there and we shall work through them. I lived through you being in the army, even though I hated it. I lived through the worry, waiting for a letter or a phone call… I would say things are different, and the same."

I never thought about what you went through while I was in the army."

"You don't want to. It was tough and now it is all behind me. I'd rather not go down that road again."

"Painful?"

"Not painful, just bad memories of worry and frustration. Maybe more frustration of not being able to something about it."

"And then I reenlisted."

"Yes, and then you reenlisted," Savannah's voice became soft and distant, "That was the low point. The low point of the lowest. I wanted to strangle you for doing that. It tore me apart. I was proud you wanted to fight for our country and all that, on the other hand, I wanted you home safe with me. My parents were proud of you staying which left me with Tim to talk to. He tried to help me stay strong: it didn't work. I was so upset by it all that I could not see the future clearly and stay focused. I just lost it."

"Then came the accident…"

"Yep, then came his parents car crash and that, as they say, was that."

"Was I forgot?" That was the second most important question on my list of 'got to ask' questions.

Savannah did not reply. You could hear the breathing of all three kids quite clearly. I looked at her to see her eyes closed tightly. I touched her lightly. I guess more to let her know I was there than pushing for a reply.

When she spoke, she spoke with emotion on every word, "I loved Tim, loved him enough to marry him. You were my first love and no one could ever replace you, and I never forgot you… ever."

I put Tim down in his small crib and tucked him in. I went back to Savannah and put my arms about her. We lay back on the bed in each other's arms, saying nothing, lost in thought.

* * *

On Friday the finishing touches were being made. I was amazed how things had come together. The ceremony was planned for Saturday at 11:00am, not noon, to give the kids time to take a nap before the reception. The reception was to start at 4:00pm and go to about 9:00pm.

Throughout the day the telephone did not stop ringing. If it did, the cell phone was working overtime. Because of the short notice we had managed to upset just about everyone except the hard core family members that could drop everything at a moment and come. Savannah was not worried as they were all at her first one.

The only people I invited were Herr Fritz and his wife, members of the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters Riding Club and my neighbor from Wilmington. Of course the entire neighborhood about the ranch was invited and which I expected to come, hence the need of a tent for the reception.

About three on Friday saw the arrival of Savannah's parents. They had driven down that morning and were going to stay with Bill and Mary in the guest house.

Savannah had told me not to worry, but I was. The old John Tyree had met her parents, but I hadn't. Sometimes amnesia is unfair.

Savannah, me and the three kids were sitting on the porch waiting for her parents to pull in. They had been telephoning to keep us updated on their progress and with every closer call tension kept building inside me. Stupid really, but there you go. They drive down in a 4X4 Dodge 350 pickup complete with trailer. The trailer thing threw me until Savannah explained they were taking three of the horses, Midas, Salt and Pepper back home.

Jill and Peter Curtis were in their mid to late fifties, both fit looking and eager to say hello again. Savannah's mother was petite with an open face and her father, slightly taller, had the darker features that Savannah inherited. Jill gave me an unabashed hug of a long lost friend, which, to a point, I was. Peter just beamed and shook my hand with both of his. Savannah was hopping about asking how the ride went while her mother wanted to pick up her grandchildren. It was a mess of hugs, kisses, crying twins and squirming baby Tim.

Peter and I edged out using the excuse of work. We dropped the trailer off by Aunt Bess' barn and took the truck down the road to Bill's guest house to unload the suitcases, suit and dress holders, and presents. It was a lot of stuff just for a couple of days. After the truck was unloaded, Peter said, "Young man lets go for a walk. I need to stretch my legs a little." Peter definitely had the accent of someone from the hills. I could detect it in Savannah, it was much stronger in Peter. Aside the accent I was caught off guard by how he pronounced, 'young man.' It was the speed at which the two words came out as if they were one with 'young' being pitched high and 'man' low and the letter 'a' of man being drawn out as if there was several a's followed by a very clipped 'n'. So unusual I missed it the first time he said it.

Since this was home turf to me, I led him away from the house and any hiding place that Attie might have found. I was beginning to be wary of that young rascal. We headed over to the coral and rested on the welded metal pipe fence. Leaning on a fence and having a good chat is a guy thing. I have rarely seen a couple of girls leaning on a fence chatting away. Girls seem to gravitate to chairs and the like… Giving it some thought, Attie was a fence leaner with me. Hum, I'd have to think about that one a little closer.

Bringing me back to the present, Peter started with, "John, it's been a while since we last met. Lot has happened and changed. History is a funny thing. Usually you have to wait at least twenty to fifty years before you can write about something with decent perspective, while here we have only, what, six or is it eight years. Difficult."

"When we first met my wife and I expected you two to get married. When we met you and I had a talk. The same talk I gave Tim and now it seems I have to give you the same talk all over again. Seems strange to repeat it to the same person. Lucky I kept my notes. Same ones I used on Tim." Peter reached into his inside pocket of his Duster and extracted a wad of papers. I gave him a look of surprise. "Oh don't worry, some are lecture notes I have to review for next week. School does not stop for Savannah's wedding, you know."

He thumbed through the papers and extracted several sheets and put them on top.

"My wife and I were married in 1976 and in 1978 Savannah came along. Having a child of our very own was something special. She was wanted and we were expecting to have more. Somehow they never came. The years rolled by and despite all our efforts we never had another child. We tried some of the leading edge technologies, nothing worked. I think that is why Jill is envious of Savannah." Peter leaned a little closer and added, "That was not in the first iteration with you. That came after the twins and young Tim. I can see my wife fretting over why Savannah is going gangbusters while she had only the one. It plays on her mind, you know."

Then back to the notes. "Savannah was a handful growing up. Since we had only the one child we had no one to compare against so we tended to spoil her." He paused and thought for a moment, "Maybe dote would be a better word." Then he rejoined the conversation with me. "Both of us wanted the best for her and spared nothing. I suppose we were vicariously enjoying life through her eyes. Seeing things anew, asking questions for the first time, seeing the world and its marvels afresh. Ah, good times. Her mother kept a diary for Savannah which we gave her when she got married. It's somewhere in her house.

"I suppose she has told you we live out of town on a small farm. Been in the family for generations. My father ran in to some difficulties during the depression and had to sell bits off to pay his debts. I inherited it and now it is down to ten acres with a house, stables and a corral." Peter chuckled when he added , "Big enough for one man to manage now. Over the road is the old Wheddon place. Been in the family for ages. I guess things don't change much on our part of the state. I'd say we like it that way. During the depression they did okay because of the bootleg business they were in. Oh, don't get me wrong, things were tough and people did what they had to do to make ends meet. Old Joe Wheddon was a first rate man who learned the moonshine business from his great uncle Malcolm Love who brought the skills over from Scotland. With the money they made they bought up the land about their property as others went under. He never bought any of our property because it was on the other side of the road. Old Joe wanted to make one big parcel of land to hide his business in the middle. With no roads and lots of rough land, that is what he did. Stuff went in on mules and moonshine came out the same way. He'd be gone for weeks on end busy out in the middle of nowhere and no one ever found his still. In the end he ended up with about five hundred acres of prime mountain property. Old Joe had one son who had one son who had Tim and Alan. You remember Alan, don't you?"

"Sure do,"

"After the death of their parents the will entered probate which stated everything should go to Tim. There was no provision for Alan. Everyone knew Tim would look after his brother through thick and thin: and he did. Tim and Savannah both worked at the developmental evaluation center then came along the weekend ranch program for autistic kids. Alan loved the horses and started to shine in the program." Going back to Tim and Savannah, Peter said, "Those two kids were good for each other. You know that don't you?"

"Not really Sir. There is still a lot I don't know."

"Young man that is what I figured and why I'm giving you a refresher course. You have to be up to speed for what is coming your way." I wasn't sure if he was giving me a warning or friendly advice. I kept quiet and listened.

"They were good for each other, but the fire she had for him was definitely not the same intense fire she had for you. You know that don't you?"

"No Sir."

"Take it from a high school teacher, I've seen a lot of romance on campus. It comes in all shapes and sizes. Until Savannah met you she was level headed and calm. You brought out the best in that girl and she was head over heels in love with you. Her love for you has never died. Oh, I'm not saying she did not love Tim, she did. That love was different: if you know what I mean.

"When Tim hit remission the twins came along and life got very hectic. Savannah worked hard to be ready. Read all the right books, listened to people who had multiple births, in the end nothing can prepare for the onslaught twins bring. Jill tried to help, she was not prepared for double trouble and ended up causing more problems for Savannah. In the end Jill had to back out and let Savannah work it out with Tim.

"The twins, Alan and the weekend ranch program drained Tim of the energy he had. It was like a three ring circus over there. I kept telling Jill we have to stay out of their affairs. They were adults and needed to make their own path through life. I wanted to give them the same opportunity my father gave me by leaving us alone to sink or swim.

Peter took a deep breath before saying, "I'm not sure if all the work Tim did caused him to have his relapse or not. It was like he got out of hospital and bam! A one-two punch hit him, he struggled and then down he went.

"When Tim went back into hospital I think he knew he would not be walking out. He started getting things in order. First he had to do something about Alan. With Savannah barely coping with the twins she did not have the wherewithal to handle Alan as well. Tim, bless his heart, knew that and badgered his relatives to take Alan out of the house. That caused resentment and bad feelings. This family is very clannish and resented Savannah keeping all the land and everything on it and they were expected to look after Alan with nothing coming their way. That caused bad blood that got worse when no one was willing to step up and take care of Alan. Eventually Tim set a deadline of 10:00am one Monday morning. If no one stepped up he would put Alan into a home for the mentally impaired and let the state take care of him. I can tell you the proverbial shit hit the fan. Excuse my French, but it did! A family delegation trooped over to the hospital to deal with Tim. Tim knew this was coming and had the police ready and waiting.

"That is when his family split apart. Others could see reason and took Alan and are looking after him. Others felt hard done by as Alan was not in the will and they felt Tim should sell up and give Alan his half. Ha! Like Alan knows the first thing about dollars and cents. All that greedy lot wants is to get their hands on Alan's half and have a good time!

"And now we come to you. Of course everyone knows what's going on and Tim's family have joined together in disgust with Savannah getting married again and so fast! To be honest, they think you are nothing more than a money digger taking full advantage of a girl in distress. To them marriage equals all that land passing out of the family! If you think the shit hit the fan the last time over Alan, you are wrong. This stink is huge and you need to know what sort of hornets' nest you are walking into.

"To be honest, Savannah having Tim has saved her from some grief. Tim's family feel upset over you but they can't get too angry since there are three of Tim's kids going to be running about Lenoir in a short while. If you play that card, you should be okay. And, yes, don't go selling off any family land… that would be asking for serious trouble.

"And so we come to Savannah. Did you know her nickname is Savie?" The look on my face said no.

Savie, Tim and Alan had been friends since the beginning of time. Usually Savie was over at their place as there was more land and more exploring to do. Also Alan felt more comfortable being close to home. They went to the same schools, hung out together and were as close as any brother and sister. For years we hoped something would come of it, and nothing did. To say us parents were disappointed would be an understatement. We felt Savie and Tim were a good match. We just stayed out of their lives and watched. Tough doing that, you know.

"Then you came along and Savie blossomed. It was a remarkable change. Oh how she waited for you. My heart went out to her when she'd call home and tell us what you were doing and how the phone calls went. It was tough to be cheerful when your life was on the line so often.

"Your reenlisting was a crushing blow to her. You know that don't you?"

"Yes Sir."

"It took everything she had to keep focused and working. I watched that girl fight every day for you. Then came the accident. Oh it was bad. Tim had to forgo completing his PhD to take care of the probate and other legal matters, and of course Alan. Naturally Savie went over and, well, we were not disappointed they got married. They made a good couple.

"Then came the cancer and then it came back again. Tim was a fighter to the end. When he made peace with God he quit the drugs and enjoyed a quiet couple of months at home slowly slipping. We all knew it and hated to watch it. Some things are not fair. Then again who said life is fair. You know that don't you?"

"Yes Sir."

"I understand you were here for the funeral?"

"Not really, I drove Mrs. Bohannon up, dropped her off at the church and took off to town. I had some business to tend to."

"Oh, business here?" Peter queried.

"Chasing loose ends. Didn't get very far and now it does not really matter any more."

"The funeral was a sad affair. Savie sitting there, pregnant with her twins. Such a pathetic figure weeping over her lost husband. Broke my heart watching my daughter go through this. And then Mrs. Bohannon inviting her down south for a while. Funny that. Almost as if it was planned. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"No Sir not really." Best to act dumb in these cases.

With Savie gone, we have been looking after her place. It is a wreck. Tim did nothing to clean out his parents stuff. It is all over the place. After Tim died, Savie has done nothing to clean out his stuff. That also is all over the place. Now Alan is gone his room hadn't been touched and looks like a shrine to a martyr. That house is a walking skeleton of past people. And you are going to inherit all of it."

I almost reacted to the use of the word martyr in such a strange context. Martyrs were alive and well in my nightmares.

"If I may be so bold as to offer you one bit of advice, clean out the house of all the remnants because if you don't do it, Savie won't. She has a paralysis when it comes to cleaning out the past. We still have stuff or hers from when she was a young girl. Every time we mention we are going to so some spring cleaning, she jumps up and tells us we are not allowed to dispose of anything that belongs to her. She can be most difficult. You know that don't you?"

"No Sir."

"Well, you will." Peter added with a chuckle. "Three children and a house full of ghosts is a pretty tall order for any person. Are you up to it young man? I mean, it would try the patience of Job it would."

Here was another person offering me a way out. I guess they meant well, but they didn't understand how I felt about Savannah. I would go through heaven and hell to keep her this time. Maybe I was naive, maybe I didn't understand, on the other hand, I was not turning my back on the one I love.

"Do you have a will?" I asked.

"Both of us do. They are classified as simple wills and everything will go to Savie, eventually. I suppose it is right for you to know where you stand. Staying at Lenoir might not make you rich, just well blessed. I suppose I can ask you the same question, do you have a will?"

"I do, everyone in the army must have one. Since my father died and I have virtually nothing, I have to update it and make sure everything of nothing goes to Savannah."

"Even with nothing, get one done. I can recommend our friend back home. Your new will will not be so simple. You and Savie have a lot of talking to do. Don't wait too long and let it slip. Sooner or later it has to be done."

"Yes Sir, I know what you mean."

"I think I've talked your ear off and the girls will be wondering where we are. I'm glad you two are getting back together. I really am. And I'm looking forward to the opportunity of visiting with you from time to time and chat over a glass of wine. Male company has been in short supply of late."

With that Peter looked over his notes and checked both sides of the paper. He said, "I think that covers it better than I did before." He gave me a broad smile and said, "I think that will do. We better got back and see what needs to be done.

As we walked back to the truck I was curious and asked, "What was it like growing up in the sixties?"

Peter, this respectable teacher of American history, this father to Savie and grandfather smiled at me, tapped the side of his nose and said, "The history books have not yet been written on that topic so I'd better not spoil your read."

We walked a few steps and he added, "Ever seen Woodstock tapes?" I shook my head. He quickly came back with, "Do you know what Woodstock was?" I shook my head again. His last comment before we reached the truck was, "Maybe it's best that way. Ignorance can be bliss."

We drove back to Aunt Bess' place and walked in to the house. Quickly Savannah walked over and gave me a wiggly Georgia. I think Georgia was starting to get used to my face. At least she was not scared of me as much as she was in the beginning and I was slowly getting comfortable with her.

"Where have you been?" Asked Savannah.

"Dropping the trailer and your parents stuff off. You should see the how much they brought. You would think they were staying for a week."

"Come over here and look at this." She took my hand and we walked into the living room. She pointed to a box and said, "Special delivery. Our first wedding present." I thought, "Okay," then Savannah said again, "Special delivery as in a private car driven by a chauffeur in a suit." That made me take notice and start to look a lot closer at the package. The box was not large, just well made. You could tell by the feel of the box. I was about to shake the box when Savannah gave me the evil eye, so I gently put it down. The wrapping was carefully done with attention to detail. You could tell there was money spent on the wrapping. There was no note or label.

"Are you sure it is for us?" I posed. I was stumped as to who could have sent it to us. It had to be from her side of the family as I had none I could call my own.

"I had to sign the receipt."

"What name did you use?" I was curious.

"My own silly. It changes tomorrow, not today."

"So they knew your name would be okay. Must be your lot."

"No, I don't think so. He would not answer any questions or stay. Said he had a long drive and had to report back in person. Now that's strange. Why not a phone call?"

"Should we sneak a look?"

"O.G., No!" Savannah said in a surprised voice, "We can wait. We are waiting for everything else, so why not this." That was a low and well delivered blow that hit home. I smiled at her, raised my eyebrows and looked upstairs. She struck me down again with, "Dream on buddy boy. You had your chance and blew it." Then she added in a quiet and sexy voice, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Fortunately Aunt Bess had ordered in food. The house was getting too busy to do constant cooking as too many people were coming and going taking care of the last minute things. We gathered round the kitchen table which spilled over to the dining room table, said grace and tucked in to some good southern fried chicken. Oh, it was good. I noticed Savannah pecked at her piece as she was busy feeding the twins their food. I put my food down, wiped my fingers on a napkin and went over and sat on the other side to help feed John. Savannah looked at me and smiled. She was busy cutting up the chicken into child bite sizes letting Georgia feed herself. Along with the chicken was potatoes and sweet corn. From a baby food jar Savannah had spooned some spinach and was trying to make sure Georgia was getting a balanced meal. I tried to do the same with John and was having a difficult task. Eventually Savannah said, "Let's swap," which we did and Georgia was way better to handle.

"They want to do everything the same at the same time." Savannah said. I was not sure if she was talking to me or no one in particular as she concentrated on John. "That's what makes it so difficult with those two. At least they are not the same and I can dress them differently."

I looked at them and to me they were the same. Both had on blue Oshkosh dungarees, an undershirt, tennis shoes and socks. Their hair, yes, their hair was slightly different on color but just as curly.

"At least Tim is on a different schedule. That helps and you two aren't interested in milk any more. That's a double help." Then talking more to John she added, "You will be like your father when you get older. I can tell. You have a soft heart and care about your mother, don't you?" John gave her a big smile, big enough for her to slip a fork full of food into. Sneaky Savannah!

When the twins were fed, whipped down, diapers changed and pajamas on, it was time to take care of Tim. He was wiggling away in his crib. I reached in and picked him up and knew immediately he needed changing. Looking for help I looked pleadingly at Savannah. All she did was smile and then turned her back on me to play with the twins. I resented that and then realized, this is what I was signing up for. This was the life I was willing to do. And now it was time to suck up and Cowboy Up.

I gently booted Savannah in the rear and headed off to find Tim's diaper bag and find a flat surface. Stupidly I tried using the dining room table. Bad idea as I was told by a bunch of yelling mothers. I retreated to the kitchen only to be told to get out of there by more mothers. I was rescued by Attie when she entered the kitchen door and saw what I was trying to do. "Come here Cowboy, I'll show you how it's done." We went back into the living room where Savannah and the twins were playing. In her usual chirpy voice Attie added, "I found this lost person wandering about the place. You know him?"

Playing along Savannah said, "Yea, vaguely. Seems I've bumped into him from time to time."

"Me to," Said Attie, "There's something familiar about him."

"Okay you two. If you have quite finished, we have work to do."

Attie replied, "What's this 'we' business? Seems you are holding all the business you can handle."

Savannah turned to look at me, "I think you can handle it. Have a go, what can go wrong?"

Attie pointed to the couch and said, "That's a good place. Put him away from the edge and get changing."

"Watch and tell me what to do," I said in a pleading tone.

"Okay, okay, okay. I guess I can do that." Was attie's casual reply.

I did as Attie told me. Savannah watched and listened while she played with the twins. I was doing everything Attie was saying and felt I was doing okay until close to the end. As every parent will tell you when changing a boy, there is one thing you have to keep covered, just in case. Attie forgot to tell me that and I got an ear full and more. Attie and Savannah roared with glee and laughter. They thought my floundering was brilliant. The sudden burst of noisy mirth brought Aunt Bess into the room and her face of horror pushed the girl's mirth to higher levels. Needless to say I was not amused. Nor did I know what to do. Aunt Bess pushed me out of the way, covered Tim up and started to dab the water from her couch. She was not in a happy mood as she muttered ugly threats at those two hooting and hollering girls.

Biting my tongue hard and being glared at by Aunt Bess while listening to two girls at the point of crying with an abundance of enjoyment on my account, I walked out of the room in a sour mood. Purposefully, I walked through the kitchen and out the rear door. As I closed the kitchen door I could hear Aunt Bess say one word, "Savannah," in a harsh and brittle tone. Before I reached the edge of the porch Savannah was through the kitchen door and running after me as I headed to the truck.

"Where are you going?" She asked as she caught up with me. She was puffing a bit.

"Getting changed," I said in a flat tone. I was not a happy camper.

"Can I come along?" She asked as she slid her hand through my arm. When she felt the wetness she quickly pulled back.

"Free world." I muttered as we jumped into the truck. I gunned the engine and span the back wheels before speeding out a little too quickly down the road to the Circle O Ranch and my place in the barn. Fortunately Savannah didn't say anything. As I drove I stewed. I knew this was the hands on experience I needed, only I wished it wasn't so hands on and an ear full at the same time. By the time I pulled up to the barn I had calmed down.

I stopped the truck, turned off the engine, put my hands on the top of the steering wheel and put my head on top of my hands. "I'm sorry I reacted that way. It's… It's just… Hell I don't know."

Savannah didn't say anything. She moved over to the middle seat and gave me a hug. Somehow, that is what I needed and she knew it. That hug helped ease the frustration I was feeling. That hug soothed the jaggedness in my mind. That hug took the edge off. That hug meant a lot to me.

After what seemed a long time I said, "I need to change and then we need to get back."

We walked hand in hand into my little domain. It looked neat and tidy because I had so little stuff. On my wages I spent more on boots, spurs, belts, hats and jeans than on toys and trinkets. I walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled out some clean clothes, kicked off my boots, and headed to the shower.

"Second shower of the day," I thought while I said to Savannah, "Make yourself at home. Won't be long," as I closed and locked the bathroom door.

This boy business was something else. I stripped off my clothes and naked I sat down on the stool and thought hard. "We are not yet married and here I am right to the edge," I pondered. "Something simple as changing a boy wound me up tight." And then I hit the key point, "Can I really Cowboy Up on this one?" I ran my hands through my stubble and rubbed hard. My heart was screaming yes while my head was filling up with question-marks. Quietly I muttered to myself, "Shit!" and turned the water on to let it run 'till it was hot enough.

I flipped on the small Sanyo radio/alarm to the local country and western station. The alarm part didn't work hence being relegated to the bathroom.

One of the books I picked up at the public library was _Cheaper by the Dozen_. The Gilbreth's talk about not wasting time in the shower. Because of that book I was trying to get my time down from three to two songs which meant I had to get a move on. I didn't mind trying the number of records idea but I drew the line at the Victrola foreign language records notion. Even though the book gives a good description of taking a shower to one record, I found there was no way I could do it. Meanwhile, what was slowing me down were the clothes. I was not sure what to do. I mean to say, if I don't soak them they would stink on the other hand I didn't want to start a wash with only a few bits.

About the time the second song started I realized I was behind schedule and so I picked up the pace. I was singing along with Dolly when I finished. Then I tossed my clothes into the shower for a fast rinse and then placed them on the showerhead to drip dry. Once suitably dressed I came out of the bathroom looking for a clean pair of socks to ware.

Savannah was sitting on the bed when I was searching for the socks. She had a quiet look about her. Something was on her mind.

"Is this all you have?" She asked.

Quickly I scanned the room. It was sparce but enough for me. I replied, "Yep, not much to bother with since the army. You learn to travel light and wash often or when you can."

"You've done a good job."

I laughed, "There's really not much here to worry about. Do the bed every day and wash clothes at least once a week. Leave boots outside and clean them when necessary. Aside from that… oh yes, I forgot, trim the hair once a week and definitely clean out the horse's hair before doing mine." I thought and added, "That's about it."

"Sit down a moment," There was something in her voice. "Life in Lenoir is not as simple. Tim's house has been in the family for ages. They had family heirlooms all over the place that make it very homey feeling. Since so many have lived there there is a lot of stuff from past generations that Tim's parents were saving for retirement when they were planning to go through it all and write a family history book complete with genealogy. They had invested quite a bit of time gathering the stuff into one place. Not quite a museum, but getting close. Out in the new barn are several traveling trunks full of old family papers. No one knows what's in the trunks or who they are from. That was what Tim's parents were going to explore. Then the accident happened."

"Tim was over his head with everything that nothing got done with all the junk. It stayed exactly where it was. Of course Tim brought all his stuff back from college and that made the pile bigger."

"The mess was one reason we had our wedding at my parent's house. There was no way we could get Tim's place ready. To be honest I was glad."

"Then came the cancer and then he got better and then came the relapse. In that mix the twins were born and we needed space for their cots. To make room we took all the stuff out of one room and put it away wherever we could. By looking at the downstairs you would not realize what a mess we have upstairs. And I mean a mess."

"Then came the funeral and living here with Aunt Bess, going back home to have Tim and now back… Let's just say your room is so nice to see."

"How bad is it?" I asked after I put my arm around her shoulder. I knew she was after support.

"Oh, O.G., It's bad. I haven't changed the sheets on my bed in ages; there are dishes piled in the sink; I'm behind on the wash; and… Oh, it just a mess and I'm marrying you tomorrow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for unloading on you like this. It's been a challenge with three kids… and I don't want you thinking I'm marrying you for the kids or anything like that. No. I'm marrying you because I love you for who you are and the heart that you are."

"I've changed, you know."

"Oh brother, tell me about that. It's almost like a new person. Then out comes the John Tyree I remember. Amnesia may have taken away your memory, not your personality. Inside, you are still the same, just moved on through the years.

"What do you want to do about your home?" I had to drag her back to the present. She sobered up and thought. While she was thinking I suggested, "What if we go back to your parents house for a while and then each day we go to Tim's house and start cleaning it up?"

"Would you?"

"No, us."

"I can't. I just can't." Savannah looked dejected, "I'm not strong enough to throw anything out. I'm a softie when it comes to keeping things." She was asking for help and I knew I could say no.

"What if I through out the wrong things?"

"Oh, don't worry, I don't know what's there."

"Do you have any wedding photos out?" I knew I better ask the sensitive questions quickly so I know where I stood.

Savannah looked at me and bit her bottom lip. She did that when she was going to make a difficult decision. Quickly she said, "You choose." Then she added, "You are going to be there soon, I don't want to start off on the wrong foot."

"Can we donate stuff away?"

Savannah thought for a while. Tricky question when it comes to personal things. Finally she said, "No, better not. Just in case Tim's relatives find stuff in the charity shops they recognize. That would not be good."

"Ah, yes, good point." I was remembering the chat I had with Savannah's father and his warning about Tim's family. "Then we put a little out at a time for the trash man."

"Or load up the trailer and take it out of county."

"That's pretty radical."

"You haven't seen Tim's side. They can get pretty radical."

"Now you are worrying me. Is there something I should know before we get married?"

Savannah looked at me and said, "Maybe… maybe that's a yes… I suppose." She then gave me basically the same story her father did about Tim's family and their feelings towards her and now me. Our saving grace was Tim's three children that would grow up in Lenoir amongst Tim's family.

I think Savannah's unloading was necessary to clear the air. We both had baggage from the past. Mine was simple, hers was complex. I appreciated being told by her in her own way and time: even though I would have seen it the minute we walked in to her house.

There was one itty, bitty piece of baggage I hadn't shared with Savannah which I better do before we open the first wedding present. The limo and a driver had me worried.

It was rather late when we left the barn and headed back to Aunt Bess' place. We quietly slipped in the kitchen door but the twins saw us and ran over. It was way past their bed time so we scooped them up and started to head upstairs. We got the twins settled before Savannah asked me to go and find Tim. He had to be somewhere. I found him enjoying Jill's fingers as he tried to hold on to them. His grandmother was thoroughly enjoying the time with him. She gave him up reluctantly and off we went.

I crept into the bedroom to find Savannah sitting on the bed with a blanket on her shoulder. Feeding time. I sat on the edge and watched Tim fuss and wiggle a bit before he settled down to a meal and the close attention only a mother can give. While she talked and made noises at Tim she explained how a babies eyes can only focus a certain distance which just happens to be the distance from a baby in the crook in the arm to the mother's eyes. Amazingly some smart person designed all this with such care and attention to detail that there was not much left to chance. Biology 101 was taking on a whole new meaning as we chatted away. After a while she switched sides. I was getting ready for my job of burping. I was starting to get the hang of it. I found the diaper bag and retrieved the cloth for my shoulder. Savannah smiled and my preparation. Once full, Savannah handed Tim to me and I confidently popped him on my shoulder and started patting him on the back. "You look so good doing that. You're a fast learner."

"Good teacher," Was my reply. While I was holding Tim, I thought it was time to tackle the wedding present.

"Remember the trips I took to Wilmington with the motor bike club?" Savannah's features changed while she nodded slightly. She knew bad news was coming. "Well there is something I'd better tell you because if I don't today, I'll have to tomorrow. It's to do with that wedding present."

"The nice one?"

"Yes, the nice one. I think I know who sent it."

"Well, are you going to tell me?"

I let out a long sigh, "This is going to be difficult," I thought. I said, "The captain of a motor boat."

Nothing happened. Finally Savannah said, "Okay… I'm waiting. Should I be worried?"

"It's a girl and it's a big boat," I threw down as fast as I could hoping Savannah would miss the first part.

"A girl… Did you?"

"No, not even a kiss."

"Pinky promise?" Oh, she had me here! I had to think and double think. Damn, I was in the clear on this one.

With confidence I said, "Pinky promise."

"If you're in the clear, then I don't want you to tell me anything that you feel uncomfortable about."

"Look, let me tell you anyway. It will get a load off my chest. I don't want to get married and have to hide things from you."

Her eyes narrowed and her confidence came back, "Confession time is it? I like the baby move. Holding a baby means you can't get slugged by the irate wife-to-be." She patted the bed for me to sit down and start at the beginning. Savannah smiled broadly when I got to the part about saving Heather's life in the waves. She asked, "Would she have drowned if I hadn't gone in after her?"

I gave an emphatic, "Yes," as I remembered the grip she had on me before I pushed her away. From that point on Savannah was okay with the story and the pinky promise I could give her.

It was the length of the boat I had the most difficulty with. I knew it was big, it was how big. I stumbled and left it at a big boat. Thinking about it afterwards, I missed the bit about the his and hers mini-submarines; the two helicopter landing pads; the built-in Jet Ski docking area; skeet shooting off the bow; and a few other things Captain Simpson told me about which I forgot under pressure. It was a big boat and there was a lot to remember!

I felt relieved to have told Savannah just about everything there was to know. Life was going to be challenging, I didn't want to start out with more difficulties than what we already had.

I left Savannah with a sleeping Tim and came down the stairs. There were still a few stragglers working on some final bits for tomorrow. I said goodnight and headed back to the barn on the Circle O Ranch for the last time as a single man. Before I left I poked my head in the barn hoping to catch Attie before she was finished with Spot. She had fed, cleaned, and was gone: pity.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Saturday, February 14, 2009 started off amazingly well. I had a good nights sleep with no nightmares. I was surprised considering all the pressure Savannah and I were under. Maybe this marriage was going to be good for me in more ways than I thought of.

After I shaved I got the shower water going and I waited for a song to start. I jumped in and managed to get my shower time down to just over two songs. I think I have to work on cutting down on the shampoo. Maybe I should go to one wash rather than two. I filed that thought away to check out on the Internet when I was at a loose end. Which I was going to find out was never.

I put on some casual clothes and wandered over to the big house. Bill was gruff as Mary was still cooking up a grand breakfast for me. He was hungry and had been waiting a while. Mary wanted to send me off in style and, as usual, her breakfast was fit for a king. Bill and I did her cooking proud.

Bill and I pitched in to do the dishes while Pedro and his boys put everything away. Then Bill, Pedro and I sat out on the porch for a while to let our food digest.

For no particular reason Pedro started by telling how he met Maria, his wife, down in the Rio Grande valley. He was living on one ranch and she was on the adjacent ranch. He wove an intricate story of Mexican culture, working in the fields and sneaking about behind their parents back. Bill and I had a good time listening. When he finished, Bill took the lead and told us of being in university when WWII started, graduating in May 1942, married in June and shipped off to the Pacific in August. When he came back they got busy making a go of life. I think that was the closest Bill ever came to discussing the war.

It was my turn and I hemmed and hawed as everyone knew my story. Bill would have none of that and wanted to know the details from my point of view. So I started in Germany and told the story, embellishing my accomplishments and hiding some of the warts. I think Bill and Pedro knew the story by heart as well as I did. They, like old man Jones were curious if I was sandbagging or not. Even though Bill had seen me many times at the ranch, he still wondered. I made sure I explained I had not been sandbagging and it was just a sense of frustration that it all came together… and no I don't think I could do it again. Rope a calf, yes; come in first place, nope.

It was about 9:00 when Mary poked her head out and told us it was time to get ready. Since Tony was busy overseas in Iraq or Afghanistan, he never said which, I asked Bill to be my best man. He was over the moon with being asked and had such a good time getting the right tux for the occasion. I think he had more fun then what is normally allowed for a wedding. Bill and Mary were excited and nervous as any parent could be. I only whished it could have been one of their girls and not me getting married.

The new shirt fitted nicely but the French cuffs threw me. I gave up struggling and looked on the Internet how to button them. Hah! Is there anything not on the Internet? Feeling suitably attired I emerged and then quickly went back into my room to retrieve the ring. Pew, I forgot I had it there. Fortunately for me Savannah did not see it. That would have been bad luck. The ring was nicely done with one main diamond in the center, two smaller ones on each side followed by three sapphires grouped outside the two smaller diamonds. It cost me a few pennies, and it was worth it. I put it back on the box and walked over to the big house.

Mary had arranged for the photographer to come and take pictures. For the next thirty minutes we went through the ringer. Photos this way, that way, the other way. Grouped together and individually. Mary wanted to make sure there were enough and some to spare.

Before we left the ranch, Mary phoned through to make sure that Savannah was out of site. There are some marriage rituals that have to be followed. Bill drove the short distance. The closer we got the more nervous I became. I thought to myself how silly it was to be nervous, and then I was, but worse.

Since there was no one from my side of the family, the local people used that side. Savannah's and Bill's relatives filled her side. Then there were the hangers-on scattered about the place. I must have shaken every hand possible as I walked from the truck to the house. The ranch was packed with cars all over the place.

When Bill and I walked into the living room I saw old man Jones at the front. I poked Bill and asked, "What's he doing up there?"

"Going to marry you two. Who else?"

"Is he licensed?"

"Justice of the Peace, and has been for ages. Why? Who did you expect?"

"I guess someone like our preacher."

"Not licensed and we don't want any problems. I think there are enough of us that want to see you to off that it ain't worth the risk." I nodded my head and Bill and I walked up to the front and shook old man Jones' hand.

"Well son, I see you finally made it," Old man Jones said. "Mighty proud of you for picking such a fine sweetheart." Quietly he said to me, "Wished it was Sapphire but there you go."

Bill tapped me on the shoulder and put out his hand and said, "Ring." I went through all my pockets and could not find it. Ahhh! Panic stations! Then I remembered to check the vest pockets. Yep, it was there. Pew, I sighed with relief.

"Don't you dare do that again," Bill whispered nervously to me. He was hopping from one foot to the other while I searched and was getting ready to throttle me for forgetting the ring. With the panic over we settled down to wait for Savannah.

I was not sure where the prelude music came from. Definitely not a record. Somewhere there was an organ filling the house with calming music. Old man Jones glared at me and started to mutter something along the lines, there better be no Phantom of the Opera music at his wedding! I was beginning to feel like a bit player in a drama and not the key person.

Everyone was checking their watches and then the grandfather clock chimed out the eleven o'clock hour.

Wagner's Bridal Chorus started on time. First to enter was Attie suitably dressed with her hair up. She was scattering rose petals all over the place in gay abandon. I would have said she was smiling and crying at the same time. Next came old man Jones' girls, each carrying one of the twins. Next was Jill carrying young Tim. Finally, there was Savannah walking towards me. Oh, my, did she look so pretty. Cream colored dress, high bodice, short puffy sleeves, cream colored shoes and a smile a mile wide. She looked so good! I quickly checked, and, yes, she did not have a wedding ring on her finger. I was glad she chose not to wear it. We had talked about the ring thing and I could Savannah was struggling within herself to wear or not wear her first wedding ring to our wedding.

Her father brought her to the front of the room and passed her to me and took his place beside his lovely wife.

Despite holding a copy of the Book of Common Prayer, Old man Jones had the service memorized. He concentrated on us as if there was no one else present. His words were said with authority and meaning and with all of his heart. I was so enthralled that Savannah had to poke me in the side to bring me back to earth so I could say, "I do." I really don't remember savannah saying her, "I do." I was so glad to be there and finally marrying the girl of my heart and dreams after so many years. When old man Jones said, "You can kiss the bride." I suddenly realized we were married! Savannah lifted her veil and we kissed as a married couple. Hot tamales! We made sure it was a kiss to remember.

That was when the organ struck up the opening bars to Phantom of the opera and old man Jones gave me the evil eye. I laughed at him and he responded in kind. It should be the last time… I hoped.

Even though the actual ceremony was a small family affair, there were enough people that we quickly moved from the house to the tent to have our light lunch. Savannah took me by the hand and we walked about the tent greeting and visiting with as many people as we could. It was one continuous going from here to there and from one side of the tent to the other.

Finally she said, "I've got to feed Tim. I'm starting to hurt." I said okay and we both started to scout about for Tim. We found him in the corner of the tent bounding on Jill's lap.

"About time you showed up, he's starving and fussing." Savannah looked at her mother in slight disbelief. I scooped Tim up and headed back to the house with Savannah in hot pursuit. Fortunately no one bothered us as we headed upstairs, together, in our wedding clothes.

Once the door was closed and locked, Savannah said quickly, "Help me out of this dress."

I looked at it and started to tug at the zip. Nope, there was something that had to be undone before the zip could go down. I put Tim on the bed and set to work.

"How difficult is it?"

I wanted to crack a joke then I thought better of it. Savannah was a little irritated at my slow progress. Finally I saw the clasp. Un did it and had the zip down in a jiffy. Savannah pulled down the top and held Tim close.

"No blanket"

"Not now. You've graduated from Biology 101 and it's time for 102. I sat on the bed next to my bride watching her feed young Tim. Tim fed and watched his mother's face as she quietly talked to her son. Tim was hungry and drank down both sides. I took Tim and started the usual routine of burping him. I was hoping he would not throw, or burp it all up, and we'd have to start again as I had big plans for the remaining time before the reception started. I soon found out Savannah had exactly the same idea.

Savannah stood up and, carefully, slipped out of her wedding dress. She put it on a hanger and hung it in the closet. Looking intently at me, she slowly and carefully undressed and lay on the bed next to me waiting for Tim to burp and fall asleep for a while. For once Tim behaved himself and when fully asleep I lay him gently in his cot.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

We were fast asleep when Aunt Bess banged loudly on the door and in a fierce whisper said, "What do you think you are doing? Your guests are all here!"

"Okay," I muttered.

"No! It is not okay. Get down here now." As she left the door I could distinctly hear her say, "Kids!"

"You awake?" I said to Savannah after Aunt Bess had left.

"What do you think after that racket at the door?"

I flopped back on the bed, closed my eyes and thought pleasant thoughts.

"Well?" asked Savannah.

I had to smile and gave the silly reply of, "Well, what?"

She got up on her elbows, looked at me through disheveled hair and said, "Well, how was your first time?"

"Boy-oh-boy, what have I been missing? That was unbelievable."

"I'm glad. I wanted to replay you. Your first time for mine. I think there is justice there. And now, buddy-boy, we have a show to put on and I'm starving."

I watched my wife head off to the bathroom to get ready for the reception. I had to laugh when she yelled at me, "What did you do to my hair?"

"You didn't complain a while ago."

"Men!" was all she said.

I handed her her dress while I climbed back into the tux. There was no way we were going to fool anyone. We were newlyweds with a few hours to spare, so what do you expect?

We came down the stairs with me carrying a wide awake Tim as he tried to look about at all the noise. I handed him back to his grandmother while Savannah and I headed over to the tent. We had to be there to greet everyone already in the reception line.

We had hands to shake, people wanting to chat, speeches to listen to and food to eat. Of course the photographers were busy snapping away along with the video recorder making sure they everything was captured. Now I remembered seeing a young man standing in the corner pointing the video camera at us during the wedding ceremony. Then came the garter belt. I had only put it on a while ago, and now I made a big production of taking it off. And finally Savannah had all the young girls waiting to grab the bouquet. The high throw was perfect for Sapphire. She caught it with shrieks and yells. Across the room I caught the eye of old man Jones looking at me. I smiled and gave him a small waved.

Aunt Bess had hired a local band that no one had ever heard of. She chose them because they were versatile enough to play Zydeco music but had told no one, yet.

After the food, the speeches, the garter and the bouquet came the dancing. I had been chatting to the band and had something special planned. I had mixed it up. Savannah and I came into the middle of the dance floor. She put her hand on my shoulder and I slipped my hand about her waist. She smiled so sweetly as the music started off calm and collected. We slowly went about the floor, chatting and smiling at all the guests. This continued for about a minute of so before the band showed their true colors of good old fashioned Zydeco music. The band slid into a rendition _Mon Papa_, a Cajun Waltz_._ Savannah didn't have a clue what hit her as I took the lead and we moved about the floor. We ducked, slid, and waltzed about to the music. I had a ball while Savannah hug on for dear life. At the end of the song, and before she got caught out on the floor again, Savannah headed to the side to check on Tim. She picked Tim up and said to me, "I have to feed Tim, and I can do this one on my own." I had a crestfallen look on my face at which Savannah laughed. "Go dance with Attie," were her parting words. At least she trusted me.

I found Attie guarding the punch bowl and doling out measured cups to the adults. "Hay Attie, having fun?"

"Too busy keeping the rug-rats away from the punch."

"Why?"

"Don't you know?"

"No, let me have a taste." I took a sip and said, "Pew! That is some punch. More like racing fuel!"

"Tell me about it!"

"You tasted it?"

"Of course. I'm allowed to try everything once. Almost blew my curls out." It was then I noticed a half empty glass tucked to the side. I then looked at Attie, then back at the glass.

Attie gave me a smile, shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Oh well, too late." It was about that time the band started up the classic, _Walkin' To New Orleans_. I took Attie by the hand and led her to the dance floor. I was thinking she should be ready to do some walkin of her own. The dance floor was filling up pretty quickly, I was surprised. Attie and I had a fun dance. About half way through the song I spied Aunt Bess being a wall flower. I steered Attie toward Aunt Bess and pulled Bess onto the dance floor. Oh, did she fuss and gripe, then I think the punch kicked in and she was easy on the dance floor for someone of her age. By the end of the song Aunt Bess was all smiles and very happy someone danced with her.

Savannah rejoined several songs later. I guessed Tim was back with Jill so I took full advantage of our time together. We did virtually all the slow dances and when the tempo picked up Savannah kicked off her shoes and I had to be very sure where I placed my feet as we moved about the dance floor.

We had a good time and the time rolled by. By ten in the evening we were winding down. By ten thirty we gathered up the still awake children and headed upstairs. The twins were a fussy lot and took a while to settle down. Once changed and in their beds, they were out like a light. Tim took a while to feed and burp and put down. When that was all done, I turned round to find Savannah asleep on the bed still in her half undone wedding dress. I was starting to see what she meant by having to share her with the children.

I wrapped her in the comforter, got undressed and slipped in beside her and lay there thinking.

I really did not know what I had gotten myself into. I knew I had made the right choice in marrying Savannah. I knew I could grow into a father figure for the children. I knew I had a better chance at life with Savannah than without her. On the other side, I knew there will be challenges that will push me hard. I knew we had baggage that will keep popping up. I knew I had to face Lenoir. While I lay there a memory of being in bed with Savannah was sort of emerging. I stopped thinking and waited to see what would happen. It was a hazy memory. Too hazy or fuzzy to be of any use. Maybe it should have been called an impression rather than an actual memory. Oh well… Then I fell asleep.

It must have been about two or three in the morning I was awoke by someone touching me. Using one eye I struggled to look. It was Georgia. She was standing by the bed touching my hand.

Seeing she was not a happy camper I knew she was after some attention. Most probalpy had a bad dream. Savannah had told me about them. I quickly surveyed our bed and knew it was too busy. I slipped on a t-shirt, picked her up and quietly sent next door to the guest room. I tucked in one side so Georgia would not fall out of bed and we settled down for the rest of the night. Before she fell asleep, and throughout the night, Georgia stuck out a foot to touch me. I guess to make sure I was still there. Every now and again I would sort of wake up to her toes moving.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Savannah and I had not talked about Sunday and which church we would go to. I just assumed we would head out to listen to the preacher while Savannah had other ideas. Not wanting to rock the boat I went along with her suggestion. I'm glad I did as that was the same church that Aunt Bess went to. Their church started one hour later and was closer than where I had been going which made for a easier getting up and getting ready.

Since the car seats were still in Aunt Bess' car, Savannah went that way while I joined Peter and Jill in their truck.

This church was very different from what I was used to. There was a whole lot of flash and show with very little substance. I was disappointed and wondered which god they were worshipping: but didn't say anything. Sometimes the better part of valor is discretion. At least the twins stayed with us rather than being farmed out to a play group.

Fortunately we did head over to the Farmer's Stockade Restaurant for lunch. I was glad we were not give up that Sunday ritual. Already tucking in were Bill and Mary. They waved to us as we trooped in over to one of the larger tables. As we settled the twins and Tim in, I slipped over to Bill and said, "Why didn't you tell me it would be different?"

"Son, I told you not all churches are created equal. Some are only in it for the money and not to save souls. Just remember what the good book said, 'One Lord, one faith, one baptism,' and that's all there was way back then. So why are there so may now? I'll tell you why. They are 'whited sepulchers' following different lords, different faiths and different baptisms: that's why. Just you watch out you don't get sucked in by the show because then they will be after your money." Mary interrupted Bill by touching the back of his hand. He knew he had said too much for her liking. I left to go back and help Savannah start feeding the twins.

After we ordered and waiting for the rolls to come out, Savannah asked, "How was your night?" I loved the way she gives me a certain look while asking a question that wasn't meant to look like a question.

"Fine, once I settled down with Georgia."

"I wondered where you two had gone to when I woke up. I was not ready to find myself abandoned so early."

I was thinking of saying "Oh, I wouldn't say abandoned, just replaced by someone younger," But thought better of it

What I did say was, "Oh, I wouldn't say abandoned, just taking care of business." Savannah smiled at the correct reply. Pew, got that one right! Then I added, "Except for the foot. I could feel her toes all night long."

Savannah frowned and said, "She started that after Tim died. The doctor said it was her way of making sure I was there and had not left her. Like Linus and his security blanket." I knew the analogy as I read Peanuts every Sunday. "I was surprised she came to you last night. Maybe she is getting used to seeing you about the place. John, on the other hand, id different. We still have some work there." She ruffled his curly hair as she talked about him.

After lunch we went back to Aunt Bess' ranch and took the kids for a walk. They needed to get out after church and a good meal. Also Savannah wanted to get them back on schedule after the excitement of the past couple of days. We walked about the ranch with me carrying Tim and Savannah following the twins as they went exploring the ground for stones. They were fascinated by the small stones that littered the place. John could lean over and pick up stones all day long. Mostly he picked up a few to give to Savannah while Georgia would run about, always coming back to see what her brother was finding.

"Sorry about last night," Savannah said during a quiet moment.

"Sorry about what?"

"Falling asleep on you."

I smiled, "Don't worry about that. We have all the time in the world. There is no rush."

"I know that, it's just I wanted to have a special wedding night…" Her voice trailed off and I let it. She was playing with her new wedding ring, spinning it about her finger, without realizing she was doing it. I wondered why.

Savannah slipped her arm about me and sighed, "I'm glad you understand. That is one of the things that attracted me to you at the beginning. You did not put any fancy moves on me."

"I didn't? You never told me."

"Why should I tell you everything at once, then we wouldn't have anything to say to each other. I want to keep you asking for more."

I held up my hands and whispered, "More please?"

Savannah laughed lightly, "You are too tall and I don't see a bowl." Quickly she asked, "When did you read that book?"

"Saw the movie on PBS. The old black and white version. It was pretty good. Sometimes I think color gets in the way of the story."

"Never thought of it that way."

"Just a different perspective."

The conversation lapsed as we watched John put stones in Georgia's hair and Georgia hitting her brother. Savannah quickly stepped in.

The mess of the reception was still all over the place. Aunt Bess refused to have people over on Sunday to start taking things down and putting them away. That could be done on Monday.

We brought the kids in and put them down for their afternoon nap. Savannah fed and I burped Tom before we came down stairs to tackle the presents that we have received.

We had made it abundantly clear that savannah and I had everything needed for a house and home. We put in the invitations that we would rather have donations to the M D Anderson cancer center for other families facing the challenges of cancer. Most of the guests listened, some did not. We had to take care of the latter group.

The vast majority of presents were diapers of various sizes. That was something we definitely could use. Mixed in were some frilly dresses for Georgia and one small suit for John. We received a couple Blockbuster gift cards, one Target gift card, some chewing gum that Savannah claimed right away and one Christmas fruit cake. I got the distinct impression everyone but me knew who sent the cake and was not saying. Finally there was only one present unopened.

Savannah handed me the scissors and smiled. I slowly picked up the box and moved it to the edge of the table. Carefully I cut the sticky tape so as to take off the paper in one piece. Aunt Bess was muttering something about dying before I finished. Peter was rubbing his chin and Savannah was enjoying my anxiety building.

The removed paper revealed a cardboard box, carefully cut to size. I carefully sliced through the tape holding it together. Once cut away I was facing a rather fine jewelry box of four drawers. I knew this was not some cheap box. I had seen too many reruns of _Going for a Song_ in Germany and _Antiques Roadshow_ in the States and knew there was more to this box than met the eye. I sat down and looked at it carefully. Nice workmanship, no chips, original finish and four quality claw and ball legs.

I opened the bottom drawer first. That is how the army taught you when searching a house. Start at the bottom and work your way up. That way you do not have to close anything. There was a small silk draw string purse. I carefully opened it and looked inside. "Oh, my," I thought as I tipped the contents out into my hand. A pair of cufflinks and several shirt studs fell into my hand. The cufflinks were gold or gold plated in the shape of an old fashioned ships steering wheel. In the center of the wheel was a fine diamond with very small ones on each wooden spoke of the wheel. Each stud was matching gold or gold plated with a fine black diamond in the center.

No one said anything as I passed them around.

I went up a drawer and opened it. Carefully attached to the velvet pillow was a choker made of exceeding curious workmanship. I looked at it for the longest before even trying to take it out. It was five rows made of links, if that is the right word, of interlocking seashells, mermaids, seashells and starfish. The metal looked deep red if you looked at it one way or yellow if the light shone a different direction. I picked it up and handled it gently as I moved it about in the light. It was not clear how it clasped so I handed it to Savannah to figure out.

The next drawer up contained a necklace made of pearls, three strings. I picked it up and looked very carefully. The pearls were natural, not cultured. I handed it to Savannah as she had passed the choker on to Mary.

I had to think about the top drawer and then I opened it. My-oh-my. There was one large teardrop pearl pendant on a gold chain sitting on the silk pillow.

Everything had to do with the sea, everything was quality workmanship, and everything pointed to one certain captain of one certain boat.

I sat down twirling a cufflink between my fingers and thinking hard. Savannah had the large teardrop pearl pendant about her neck and looking at herself in the mirror.

Peter finally broke the silence, "This is a lot." His understatement was overwhelming obvious even if you had never heard of Arthur Negus discussing jewelry in his dry West Country way.

Jill was looking at her daughter looking at herself in the mirror. I was not sure if the look was one of approval or distain. Women are so hard to read. I wondered if something had just passed between mother and daughter that I missed.

"You know you can't keep it," Jill added after a while.

Since no one answered, I did with, "Easier said than done."

With a huff at the rebuttal she said, "Why not? Just pack it up and send it back."

"If you remember it came by currier with no return address." I was keeping my Captain a secret between Savannah and myself. I had no concrete proof it was her.

"Oh, Peter can track the owner down."

I looked at her husband and said, "Good luck on that one." He said nothing.

"What do you think, O.G.? Keep or send it back?" Savannah asked without leaving the mirror. I heard the question, but not paying attention as I was still lost in thought.

"I can see why the sender was so secretive. This collection is fit for _Antiques Roadshow_." I mused out loud.

"How much?"

"I would guess between $100,000 and $200,000 easy."

"That's a lot," Savannah said as she fingered the large teardrop pearl pendant.

"It is. And if I remember my _Roadshow_, that pendant comes from the Middle East where pearls like that grow naturally. Very rare if I remember rightly."

Aunt Bess finally said something. I was surprised she had waited so long to add her two cents worth with, "Go ahead, keep it. That's what presents are for. And you do look good in your tuxedo." The second part was directed at me.

Finally Savannah turned round, looked at me carefully and asked again, "What do you want to do?" This was my wife asking me, her husband, what he thought was best for the family. It was a no-brainer.

"We shall keep everything. We shall also try and find out who send this magnificent present and send a large thank you note." I tried to keep the glee out of my voice as I said that. I did not want to sound like some spoilt brat. Savannah beamed at me. I chose correctly and won the prize! Jill was not as happy.

"Put on the pearls," I asked savannah. She handed me the pendant while she put the pearls about her neck and admired them in the mirror. I carefully studied the teardrop pearl pendant as I turned it around in my hand. It was magnificent.

As I was about to put it away in the top drawer I noticed the small black silk bag tucked away at the back of the drawer. I tipped it upside down and out came matching, but smaller, teardrop pearl earrings. "I was wondering where they were," commented Aunt Bess.

Everyone, including me, suddenly looked at her.

"Stands to reason, you have to have matching earrings for that pendent. I would also suspect you missed some other earrings that go with the pearl necklace. I looked on the second drawer and there, at the back, was the small black silk bag containing the requisite earrings. So I went to the third drawer and carefully looked. No earrings. While I was at it, I had another look at the fourth drawer. My cufflinks and studs were alone.

Everyone was eyeing Aunt Bess as if she was the guilty suspect. The pressure finally got to her and she said, "Don't look at me like that. I have better things to spend my money on than trinkets like that!" Her brisk statement didn't put anyone off her trail. Even I was beginning to wonder if I gave the Captain more credit than what she deserved.

That evening we fed the twins well and made sure Tim was also well stuffed so that all the children would sleep long and sound so that Savannah and I could have some personal time together. I was beginning to see where every move, every action and every plan had to be thoroughly thought through so that the outcome could be the right one. The Tyree team was starting to jell.

The next day, Monday, was going to be packing day. Savannah had said it was time to go home and face the future. Even though I wanted to stay and have fun, I knew Savannah was right. We had to start carving out our own life together.

The plan to go to Lenoir was simple. Peter and Jill would take their truck, trailer, horses and as much stuff as we could pack into the truck cab while Savannah, myself and the kids would borrow Aunt Bess' car and follow behind. Hopefully we could get everything to Lenoir in one trip. Then I would drive the car back and drive my motorbike home.

All day long we packed and packed. I did not realize just how much stuff Savannah had brought with her. A lot of it I had never seen. I guess she brought it for a 'just in case' situation. And now we were adding our wedding stuff to the pile. Fortunately Savannah was not a person that had to keep her wedding dress. The second one, at least. I was to find out she still had her first one. I found that out much later.

We were up at five in the morning to start the trek to Lenoir, North Carolina from Aunt Bess' ranch down on the rolling hills. The kids were still asleep as we clicked them in the car seats and started off into the future. We chose an easy route along I40 all the way to Hickory. Then up 321 to Lenoir, actually between Lenoir and Charlsemont, to Nuway Circle and Zacks Fork Road. Then we turned left onto Old Mill Road and went just about to the end by the pool. The trip took us four stops for the children, gas and bathrooms for the adults.

The last time I was here, the last time I remember, that is, I did not pay much attention. I had places to go and people to see. This time was different. I was interested and looked all about as we drove by the town. Obviously bigger than the ranch and smaller than Wilmington, Lenoir came in with a population of about 12,000. I had searched the Internet pretty hard getting up to speed with what is going on. Plenty of numbers to read and then there was the online newspaper, the News-Topic. Yep, I love the Internet!

I remembered collecting Aunt Bess from here after the funeral. This time I took in a lot more. On the right was the home of Peter and Jill while over the road, on the pond side was the Wheddon house. Funny how I immediately thought of it as the Wheddon house. I looked about the place, taking in the area and thinking that there were old memories here. The pool lay between two hills with a third over the road making the pool almost surrounded on three sides. It was the hill to the north that caught my attention. It had a commanding view of the pool and the Wheddon place. I immediately closed my eyes and almost could see that view. A cold shiver went down my back as I stood with my eyes closed. I knew there were memories here, I hoped they were good ones.

Peter yelled at me to come over and help get the horses unloaded, so I left the women and children to sort themselves out and headed off to assist Peter. He had backed up the trailer to the stables. He could have easily taken care of the horses on his own. I suspected he wanted to talk in private.

"Young man, welcome to Lenoir and my home. I hope it will be as good for you as it has been for me." He had a smile on his face. He now had the home team advantage. "Let me point out the fine amenities we have to offer." Pointing at the white two-story Victorian house with the large porch, Peter added, "And this is the house that my grandfather built back in about 1895 or so. Used Cyprus, Oak and some Elm. Between you and me I think there is some Pine tucked away somewhere. The lap-and-gap exterior is all original and was painted a couple of years ago. I did it myself over school spring break. Pretty good, if I must say so myself. Nice in the summer, a bit chilly in the winter. We have central heating, doesn't help much. I usually get the wood burning stoves going and that makes the difference. Big one in the kitchen and a smaller potbelly in the living room."

"Jill has you on the left side upstairs. We call that the west wing as it is two bedrooms with a bathroom in between. Should suit you just fine. Our bedroom is upstairs on the other side. Out here," He said waving his arm about the yard, "Is where we spent many hours with Savie as she grew up. She was a softie for all sorts of animals. Her favorite were horses. Her first one was an old mare, name of Slocum. She looked after that horse like a full time maid. That horse wanted for nothing. We had dogs, cats, the odd fox and even a skunk. We were the place people came if they had lost a pet hoping someone had turned it in to us. Think of us as the unofficial animal pound. Lucky Jill did not work full time after Savie came along. Too busy raising her to work. And between you and me, I think she enjoyed having a small child in the house: You see things so differently."

"Savie had a full and active youth. Just a pity she had to grow up. Somehow life can be so unfair." Looking at me he added, "One day you will understand that for yourself."

"Peter, what's on your mind?"

"Oh, let me finish before I start that." Moving about the yard he pointed the size of the coral and the extent of his land and tried to point out all the lands that they sold off years ago. It was a lot of land. As we walked and talked, I was puzzled about what you did with land covered with hills and mountains. It was while we were down by the road that Peter finally got to the point of our chat.

"It's Jill, she's not well. Brain tumor that to all intents and purposes is inoperable." He was looking out across the land. I did not say anything. "We found out a couple months ago and was planning to tell Savie. Then Tim died and she took off down your way. Then she was back and gone. We never had a good opportunity to sit down as a family and chat. Then came the marriage and, as now the protocol has changed, I am now talking to you and asking for your support with Savie and Jill." He turned to look at me, man to man. "I'm sorry to put this burden on you so soon into your marriage. Savie will need all the support you can muster. I hope your shoulders are broad enough to bear this burden."

I walked over to a fallen tree and sat upon it. I needed some support. Peter joined me, he put his foot on the tree and continued, "We have been to some of the best doctors here and even flew to Houston. All the information points to a deep seated tumor that is growing. So far there are only slight signs. It will get worse. Before you ask, they are giving her six months on the inside to about a year and a half on the outside. For some of that time she will require help and attention. That's my job. I have already prepped the school principal and have been preparing my class notes." He tapped his breast pocket, "That is why I am carrying so much paper with me so I can keep reviewing and preparing."

I really didn't have any questions since this type of stuff was new to me. Amnesia tends to leave you blank. I would need time on the Internet to better understand what Peter was saying and then ask questions. The only question on my mind was Savannah. How will she take it so close after losing her husband?

"Young man, you really do not ask many questions, do you?" He caught me off guard in deep thought.

"Who will tell Savannah?"

"That is the point of this little chat. Technically you are the head of the house and all things like this should go through you. On the other hand, I am her father and feel responsible. Between the two, you take precedence and so I look to you to take the lead. I can offer support and add whatever else you need. Think about it and let me know so I can tell Jill what your plan will be. Just don't wait too long or else Jill will spill the beans, as the saying goes."

"How is she taking it?"

"Remarkably well. She is the one with the faith in the family. Oh, I go to church and am a deacon: in reality she has been carrying me along." He paused and thought before continuing, "As we have gotten older you talk about different things. When we had Savie everything revolved about her. When she took off to college there was a huge hole in both our lives that was empty. We adjusted and moved on. That adjustment also brought home to point that we were not getting any younger and had to look toward our one future. Maybe not 'look toward', more get ready, or put in place a plan. Yes, I think that sounds better, put in place a plan. A will, a living will and what we wanted, or did not what, in case certain things happen. In these discussions we talked about getting something and did we want to fight it tooth and nail." He glanced at me and added, "Young man, are you with me?" I nodded while studying the dirt in front of me.

"Jill is not interested in heroics or pain. Give her the needle and make her comfortable. Unfortunately, that seems to be where we are heading." Peter let out a long sigh. Life, unfortunately, is very much like a box of chocolates… Did you ever see that movie?"

I nodded and continued to study the dirt.

"I think this is more like Harry Potter when Dumbledore tries his luck picking a good tasting Bertie Bott's Jelly Bean and ended up with an earwax flavor."

I continued to nod as I saw that movie several times, it was a good one.

"We better get back as we have taken too much time unloading three horses. Savannah will be curious why we have been gone so long. This could be the segue you are looking for."

I was not thrilled with what I had to do. I thought I'd like to visit with Jill to get another perspective. Then I thought again and realized I didn't need another perspective, I needed help!

It was a slow walk back to the house as it was all uphill. We came in the back door, Peter told me to kick off my shoes and put on the slippers that were available in various sizes and colors.

We walked in to the kitchen were Savannah, Jill and the children were sitting about the table having a good time. I wished I could capture that moment of family joy and bottle it up for the sad days to come.

Savannah gave me a quizzical look while Jill smiled at her husband. Jill knew what was going on. Jill moved her chair to make room for Peter and I moved a spare stool next to Savannah who dropped a fussy Georgia into my lap. Georgia wanted to stand on my legs and bounce about. Yep, she was slowly getting used to me. Tim leaned on savannah's shoulder trying to keep his head up and see what was going on about him and John was sitting on his grandmother's lap sucking his thumb.

We sat, chatted, snacked on munchies, and passed the children about and then let the twins take off about the house. They remembered the place.

After a while Savannah reminded me we had to unload our stuff and off we went out back to the car and truck.

"What was all that about?" She asked once we were clear of the house.

Acting dumb, I replied, Huh?"

I received a whack on the arm for that.

"Owe!" I complained more than what it was worth. "What was that for?"

"Being a smart ass."

I stopped dead in my tracks, started to laugh and said, "Say that again."

"Why?"

"No, seriously, say that again."

"Say what?" I had lost Savannah.

"Say, 'smart ass.'"

Savannah was not sure about me. She said very slowly, "Why?"

"Your accent. It is so cute. The way you said 'ass' was precious."

"Precious, I'll give you precious! Then I'll give you a 'birthday present' and then I'll give you a ringing in your ears as I box them!" She tried to whack me again. I easily avoided her this time.

"Ha! Think you have me on that one, don't you! I saw that movie." With that I countered by wrapping my arms about my wife, picked her up and twirled her about.

When I put her back on her feet she cuddled closely and gently she said, "I do love you." I sealed her words with a kiss. It was a long kiss. I liked the way she kissed, not holding back, ebbing and flowing with her mouth.

Savannah had not forgotten her question. As we walked to the car she asked it again, "What was all that about? And don't act all dumb with be, I know my father too well and know all the signs."

I thought, "Damn, it will be tough hiding anything from this smart wife!" and said, "Okay, I can see there is no way I am ever going to have any secrets from you."

"A good thing to. That way the marriage stays strong."

"Is it?"

"Take it from an old hand, me, it is. So spill the beans."

I leant on the back of Aunt Bess' car while Savannah leaned on me as I told her everything her father said. I tried not to embellish or take away anything he said. Savannah said nothing for the longest as we stood there in the late afternoon of mid February 2009.

"Do you believe in life after death?" Savannah asked. You were never what I'd call religious. That is the old John Tyree, that is. You've changed that on me. I noticed you were not happy at church, were you?" There she went again, asking a question that was not meant to sound like a question. It must be in her DNA or something.

"Lying in bed in Germany I actually read some stuff out of the Bible. You know, the Gideon's group does that. After what I went through I wondered why I lived and the other guy did not. Oh, I can give you the technical reason, but I think there is more to life than what we see. Let's just say I had became motivated to learn more." Savannah rested her head on my chest and put her hand over my heart. "You bet I asked why. As the saying goes, 'There's no atheists in foxholes.' And I believe it. We had ministers coming by who wanted to see if they could help. They were all well schooled but there was no fire in their eyes. I thought they were all going through the motions. Like it was a business. I did not see anything like I read in Acts in any of the ministers. There are no Peter's or Paul's out there that speak with authority. All I got was repeated stories, nothing about today and our times. Same with last Sunday. Great singing, powerful sermon, and the sacrament: it felt hollow to me. I'm looking for preachers with authority from the big boss to teach me correct principals."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I did one of them. For the other, I do believe in life after death. How it all works I don't know, but I have faith. Believing also creates a problem and that problem is you."

"Me?"

"Hum, yes, you."

Having caught her unawares, she retreated into her home grown accent and said, slowly, "Why me?"

"Well, how do you handle two husbands in the hereafter?"

Savannah opened her mouth and then shut it. She tried again and nothing happened.

While she was floundering I tossed in, "You do realize the life after death bit goes on for eternity. That is a pretty long time."

"That's not a fair question to ask me."

"No it is not, But I had to ask myself that one before I asked you to marry me. Basically I'm selfish and want to keep you all to myself. On the other hand, I'm sure Tim is thinking the same."

"You think so?" The way she said that I knew I had caught her off guard.

"You asked, and I answered." There was a story I had not shared with anyone. I felt it was time to share it with my wife. "While I was in hospital there was a soldier that was in bad shape. I mean bad shape. I would hobble over and sit with him. The nurses were good but too busy to sit and visit. I could move and visit, just couldn't remember. He was a warrior in the fullest sense. The doctors gave it to him straight and told him there was nothing more they could do. He was too tore up on the inside and they had fixed all they could. I mean the kid had lost most of his guts and his lungs were not doing too well either. Physically he was down, not spiritually. He asked me to read from the Bible. His favorite scripture was Psalms 23. He said he needed to build up his strength, his spiritual strength, for the next big adventure when he passes from mortal life to eternal life. He died that evening while I was reading to him. He believed."

"Oh, John. I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

I held her close. Just thinking about the events of Germany and the hospital brought back powerful emotions. There are no atheists in foxholes.

Thinking out loud I said to her, "We will make it. I don't know all the answers, but we will. Just do me a favor and visit with your mother so you get her side of the story. We need to be balanced in our approach."

We were a long way off schedule. Bags were still outside and the twins were getting restless and we were chatting outside slowly getting cold. I looked at my watch and told Savannah what time it was she jumped and told me, "…to get my ass in gear." I do like her accent when she says, 'ass', it is so cute.

Quickly the suit cases from Aunt Bess' car went upstairs and then it was outside to empty the back of Peter's truck. We had loaded it up rather well. Tucked in the middle of things, and being well protected, was the four drawer jewelry box.

Jill rustled up some good food and then reminded us the horses needed feeding. Peter looked and me and I looked at him while Savannah looked at both of us. She read our minds, "You don't have any feed, do you?"

"We have hay…"

"Well, father, I guess that will have to do for the night."

Peter looked at me and said, "Come on, I'll show you where things are in the stables."

We put our shoes on and out we went. The stables were the traditional type. Two rows of stalls that had automatic water and lights. Up top was the hay loft with, I was about to find out, not a lot of hay. The horses had been gone long enough that Peter had not restocked the loft. I tossed down a couple of bails and Peter put one in the hay box and put hay out for the three horses.

"So easy to forget since the horses were gone for so long."

"Were they kept here?"

"Oh no, over the road. Savie looked after them as long as she could. Like I said, it all got too much for her. That is why Tim and I took the horses down to Mrs. Bohannon's place. Savie couldn't bear to part with any of them. What to do? Too much for her and with Jill falling ill, too much for me. Fortunately Tim came through and Savie was okay with that arrangement." After my tour Peter said, "Tomorrow you and I should go to the local feed store and get some feed or else Savie will have us strung up from the rafters for dereliction of duty toward her horses."

Peter had such a way with words, it was almost comical how he phrased things. I think I am going to enjoy my time in Lenoir.

Because of the long car ride and ample sleep the twins had during the day, they did not want to go to sleep. Savannah took them into her old bedroom and found some old books she had kept and started to read. It was precious to watch Savannah with John and Georgia, one to a side, as she read to them. As she read her finger was running along underneath the words so they could understand that what was on the pages was what she was reading. Amazingly simple and simply amazing to watch. I was impressed with my wife of three days.

It was after breakfast the next day that I asked Savannah when will we go over the road to her house. She immediately corrected me and said it was our house. I took the correction and waited for a time. She changed the subject and asked me if the horse had been fed that morning. "Oh, she's a smooth customer," I thought as I realized she changed topics on me. I let it pass, obviously this was a sensitive topic.

It was still early when Peter asked me if I wanted to ride in to town and 'check out the action'.

"Feed store?"

"Young man, nothing escapes your grasp on the facts. Yes the feed store. I called and they have Savie's feed in stock."

"Her feed?"

"Of course. She made a certain mixture that she said was excellent. The feed store started tell everyone how good it was and that one of our very own high school kids created it. Well, that did it and the feed store has been selling it ever since. They call it Lenoir Feed Mix No.1 while we call it Savie's feed."

I told Savannah I was heading to town. She gave me Georgia and told me to take her along for the ride. I wasn't planning on taking any kids with me. Savannah, on the other hand, was expecting me to take one of the kids with me. Peter quickly saw we were at cross swards and defused the situation by asking where the diaper bag was and checking it over to make sure we had enough for the trip to town and back. I gathered up Georgia, collected a coat for Georgia and headed out to the truck. Being an old hand at these things Peter had picked up a car seat on his way out the house and was putting it in when I arrived at the truck. He did not say anything, just went about getting the seat in the back.

"Better sit in the back," he said, "I don't want that little wiggle worm getting out." I did as I was requested. I didn't mind because the request was delivered with tact and diplomacy.

As we drove down the road Peter asked, "Do you have a calendar you share?"

"No, why?"

"It's important you write down things that you plan and certain dates."

"Okay…"

"Dates as in dates of the month."

"Okay…"

"Dates as in period dates."

"Oh!" I finally got what he was driving at. Biology 103 had just kicked in. I could see I needed to do some Biology 103 studying on the Internet.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

The actual town of Lenoir was not far down the various tree lined roads from the Curtis home. One of the first things I learnt from Peter was Lenoir was a city, not a town. Ouch! The second thing was people are not in a hurry. The third thing was, the recession was hurting this part of the US pretty hard. Peter explained the furniture business used to be a big employer in Lenoir until the big three companies, Broyhill, Bernhardt and Fairfield moved their production overseas. The companies were more interested in producing quarterly results than caring about the people that used to work in their factories about Lenoir. As Peter explained it in the simple catch phrase, 'profit was more important than people.'

We pulled in to the yard of the Lenoir Feed and Tack Co., The main building looked really old and I thought it was tilting to one side. The building was made of timber and corrugated tin for the walls and roof. The whole building was raised so that you could back up your pickup and get it loaded quickly and easily. Because of the age, I suspected it was raised to take care of horse drawn wagons in years gone by. The large sliding double doors were open for business and to the left of the doors was the ubiquitous Purina checker sign. Peter parked to one side and I got Georgia out of her car seat. She held on as I lifted her out and we walked to the store. The only hint Peter gave was to stay calm and let him take the lead. His advice sounded fine to me as I had my hands full with a child that was looking every which way while holding on with one hand. I was beginning to see why people loved having kids: they are so inquisitive.

Peter went in first with me and Georgia close behind. I made sure my cap was on properly and low. New people and scars usually resulted in more boring stares. As Peter walked in he nodded to several people. I guessed correctly he was well known about these parts. The owner of the store was Bubba Thomas, or just Bubba. He was standing beside the counter dressed as I should have expected in blue Denham overalls, brown tee shirt boots and a Purina cap.

"Hi Bubba, seems like a long time since I've been here." Started Peter.

"Dang has! No horses means no feed. And, "Bubba added emphasis by wagging his big fat finger at Peter," that means no money to me! And I have a family to feed not like you with your daughter gone south."

"She's back and this," pointing to me, "is her husband John Tyree."

Bubba turned to take me in. He was a good size ol' boy with plenty of hard working muscles with a well fed girth. He looked carefully before giving a big spit at the spittoon and missed. He nodded at Georgia and said, "That Georgia Wheddon?"

I nodded.

He spat and missed again, "Thought so." He looked at my face, not my eyes, checking out the scars I guessed.

From the back of stacks of feed on pallets came a thin squeaky voice saying, "Who said John Tyree?"

Peter still in the lead said, "I did."

"Hi Peter," Said the thinnest of men I had ever seen. He was a hair fatter than skin and bone and walked with a heavy limp. "John, John Tyree, I've heard that name. Who's he?"

Peter nodded in my direction and I gave a smile.

"Brother Joe served with some psycho called Tyree, John Tyree in Iraq." Peering hard at me he said, "That you?"

Several people were looking at me so I thought it was time to say something. "Yes Sir." I said with snap that was not expected. "When did he serve with me?"

"Late 2006. When you guys were fighting through Iraq after Samawah. He was new and hated your guts."

"That's fine. Where is he?"

Thin voice pulled out a cell phone, hit a rapid dial number and a few seconds later was talking to Brother Joe. His accent was thick and I had difficulty following the rapid conversation. The bottom line was, Brother Joe was heading over right away.

Meanwhile, Peter was ordering several bags of Savie feed and enough hay bales to cover us for a week. Peter turned to me and asked, "What's the biggest town to the Circle O Ranch?"

I told him and then someone else asked, "Circle O Ranch? That's next to old man Jones' place?

Staying polite I said, "Yes Sir."

"You ever heard of a cowboy called O.G.? I hear he is a sandbagger: you know him?"

I looked at Peter then back towards where the question came from and said in a confident voice, "Yes Sir, I've heard of him. Sandbagger did you say?"

"That's what we hear up these parts. Sandbagging isn't liked very much when it comes to someone's else's money."

"Money, did you say? Why someone else's money?"

"That's the story we hear up here. Just wondering if you know anything?"

"Sandbagging is pretty interesting," after a pause I added, "What's sandbagging?" I thought I'd turn the tables for a while. As the saying goes, 'attack is the best form of defense.'

Silence descended on the group except for the noise of the RFD-TV channel coming from the old fashioned TV. The same voice said, "Sandbagging is like a cheating…" Then the voice petered out.

"Sir, if you can be specific, I'd appreciate it." I kept prodding in a polite but firm voice.

Outside came the rumble and popping of an old truck. I glanced outside the double doors and saw a beat up old truck from the 1950's. The paint had all but gone revealing the red lead paint in blotches on the top and streaks on the side. The passenger fender was held on with the proverbial wire and string. The tailgate was gone and there was red paper stuck over the break lights. The spare tire was gone and there was a long and hard screech as the brakes were applied. I noticed the driver climbing out the passenger side. I guessed the driver's door was stuck. The man came quickly in and scanned open area. His eyes fell on me and his face quickly changed.

"You made it! Man-oh-man, I didn't think you would. You were in bad shape when we got to you and I gave you a plug nickel. Frenchie was dead while you were struggling. That was the last we saw of you. You were gone and the war carried on. Man-oh-man, you still look like shit." He grabbed my chin and pulled it this way and that. "Not bad looking," He muttered to himself, "I had to the field stitching on your face. Not bad, not bad at all." He kept studying and finally added, "Plug nickel and here you are. What are you doing here and where did you pick up this little girl?"

Bubba said in a grumbling voice, "That's Tom Wheddon's littlin, Georgia."

"Oh, so you are the one everyone is talking about. Congratulations on your wedding. Pity someone," he said directing his comments at Bubba, "didn't fill us in earlier. Maybe some of us would have been there."

Bubba had another go at the spittoon and missed. I could tell he was no good at hitting the spittoon because of all the spit on the wooden floor in the general direction of the spittoon. I wondered who cleaned up as they did not clean up where the spittoon was.

"So, why do you hate my guts?"

"You… you were one major psycho after that letter. Shit man, you were after any stupid mission sticking your stupid neck out, volunteering here and there and us suckers had to follow your stupid dumb ass everywhere you volunteered! Didn't ask us, just kept sticking your dumb hand up in the air and going out the door all Rambo like. Shit, what did you expect from us? Why put our necks on the line when it was your stupid fault for getting mixed up with some stupid girl back home! If you hadn't got shot by the enemy, one of us would have done it sooner or later. Never ate with us, never talked to us, never asked out opinion, never did anything for us either 'cept volunteer us all the shitty missions. And when you did get shot, everyone was happy since you got what you deserved for being so stupid. Frenchie didn't ask to get shot, he didn't have the right stuff any more."

"That interesting."

"Hell man, we'd follow you to the end if you'd just talk to us once in a while. You were good, damn good… except at the end. I guess your luck ran out." He looked hard at me and asked, "You okay?"

I smiled and said, "Yep, I'm okay… just can't remember a single thing!"

Brother Joe stood there open mouthed not knowing what to say or do. Finally his brain got into gear and he said, "Not a thing? Not as in nothing?"

I shook my head.

"Wow, that's heavy. Never had anyone like that about these parts," looking over my shoulder he said loudly to Bubba, "have we Bubba?"

"Nope," Bubba said after he tried to hit the spittoon, and missed.

"Then, you don't remember me?" Brother Joe asked.

Trying to mimic Bubba, I said, "Nope."

"So how do you know I'm not lying to you?"

"I've bumped into Tony Fonzarelli from Brooklyn, New York. We've talked and I trust him."

"Tony! Tony Fonzarelli… he was one bum always on the scrounge. Could always find beer in Iraq no matter where we were. You and him were thick. Yeh, I remember him. Where is he now?"

"Either Iraq or Afghanistan. He reenlisted. Girl problems."

"No way! He liked the life but once he got his ticket, he changed fast. Now he is back in the action. Man-oh-man, I'd never thought it of him. Yeh, I could see him getting into girl problems. He almost got shot by some Arab for chatting up his daughter. She was cute, well, as far as you can see."

Peter touched me on the arm and said, "We're loaded up. Whenever you are ready."

I turned back to Brother Joe, "How do I get in touch with you?"

"Call my brother Adam and he'll call me." I gave him an odd look. "Safe that way."

It was about time I left. There was one thing I had to do. I walked over to the person that was asking about O.G. and said, "When you speak to old man Jones, tell him from me that he better not show his ugly face about here unless he brings Sapphire with him as I am trying to fix up an army buddy with a wife." I looked over at Brother Joe and he had a big smile and gave me the thumbs up sign. "Also tell him O.G. never sandbagged in his life and doesn't like bad rumors being spread about him. Also tell him O.G. has retired while on top, just like old man Jones told him to do." I let all that sink in before saying, "Did you get all that?"

The man nodded and I carried Georgia out of the store over to the pickup. I lay her down on the seat, she needed changing badly.

As we eased out of town Peter commented, "You were pretty rough in there."

"Not really. There is a pecking order already here and it's my job to mix it up." I looked out the window and asked, "Tell me about Bubba and Savannah?"

Peter laughed, "There is nothing wrong with your head or ears. You guessed right about Bubba. He's the same age as Savannah which means he went to the same school, class and activities as she did all his life. He has a sweet spot for her that is a mile wide and just as deep. Nice guy really, just not Savie's type. Oh he tried many ways like making her her very own feed. Maybe to your ears that sounds corny, not out here. He helped her all through 4-H, county fairs and working with her horses. Academically he was nowhere close to her. That meant her friends were of a different group which meant Bubba did not see that side of her too often. Bubba's destiny was always the feed store as it belonged to his father and his father before that. A sound person, good judgment and a soft heart is our Bubba."

"The end happened when Savannah came home from finding you. It was written all over her face that she was head over heels in love. Bubba saw it: never asked Savie, just knew. That's when he started dating Audi Pearl. Not in the same league as Savie education wise, but the salt of the earth, kind, solid type who loves Lenoir and has no desires to leave. They have made a good pair now with two sons who, when they grow up, I suppose, will take over the family business and carry on the feed store when Savie's lot grows up."

"Life has a funny way about it. What was that movie? 'The circle of life' or something like that."

We came to his house and Peter backed up to the corral. I unbuckled Georgia and took her in to the house and hung up her coat and headed back outside to help with the unloading. When the last bale of hay was safely put up in the loft Peter asked, "Been over to the house?" I shook my head. "Humm, thought so." He left it at that while we got down and he put the truck away and I went inside to see what Savannah was doing.

She was upstairs feeding Tim so I went up to see how the land lay. I thought I'd be safe while she was feeding and not able to move too fast. I was right. She was on the bed with Tim wrapped in a blanket as it was cool in the house.

"Hay," I said after I closed the door, "Had a good time with Georgia. She was good as gold all the time."

"I'm glad," Savannah said easily, "She needs a good father figure in her life. Girls are like that."

"And you?"

"All I need is a husband that understands how things are every so often. I didn't mean to snap at you this morning. It's just, it's just a bit rough at the beginning."

"How do I know when the beginning is?"

"We'll have to work on that, sparky," she said with a smile.

"How's Tim doing?"

"Feeding well," Then she added, "I have to find a pediatric doctor as he needs his three month check-up and jabs."

I thought for a while as I watched Savannah swap sides and get Tim feeding again. What are we going to do about insurance? I sighed and thought it was time we sat and did some serious talking.

"Sit down and hold my hand." Savannah asked with a smile. "Tell me about your first morning in Lenoir."

Since it was my first, I could easily go through it in detail. At the end I asked, "Tell me about Bubba."

She frowned, "You know, having you here delving in to the past is sort of odd. Tim knew it all and didn't need to ask questions. You, you are different. I never thought about it."

"Bubba?"

"Okay, you want to know about Bubba and me. Okay, I'll tell you. Boy, I hope we don't have to do this with everyone. We'll never get anywhere." I was very glad I had no one to worry about. Being the only son with no siblings and no parents made live really easy. It also made life worse than having amnesia.

"Bubba went to all the same schools I did. He was always there. Quiet, bashful and insecure. I see that now, not then. Back then he was outside our click. It was okay through middle school, not so in high school. That's when I was taking all AP classes, some were dual credit, and he was struggling in academic classes. I'd see him virtually every week as father and I would go down to the store to get our feed for the week." She paused while she handed Tim to me. She lay back putting her head in her hands. She kept on talking as I tapped Tim on the back.

"I think the bubble burst when I didn't ask him to the November 1993 Sadie Hawkins dance. He made it pretty clear he wanted to go. I didn't want to go. He even sent me a photo of him self all dressed up with flowers in hand. I still didn't want to go, so I didn't." She gave a little shudder, "Not my idea of fun. Bubba took it the wrong way and thought I had asked someone else out. He didn't believe me for ages until one day at church he pulled out his Bible and made me swear in it. That made me mad, and, that was it. Even though we stayed friends, sort of, the damage was done and we kept on going our separate ways."

What's the story behind the feed?"

Savannah smiled and propped herself up on her elbows. She looked gorgeous with her hair all messed and hanging over her face like that. I could see why the old John Tyree fell for her.

"That was funny how it happened. I guess we were about eleven or twelve… I think I was in middle school. I was really into horses and would never get off unless it was raining or bed time. I would ride our horses all the time and everywhere I could. Since Bubba and I were in the same class we would talk animals and feed like we were professionals. I remember us huddling at the back of some class deep in discussion when the teacher threw the eraser at us to stop us talking." She had a smile on her face as she wandered down memory lane. I wanted to join her, but could not. "Bubba would tell me what his father had learnt about this or that feed product from the sales reps that constantly called touting their new and improved feed. You know, it always puzzled me why something was always 'new and improved' when the last lot was 'new and improved'. Finally I wised up to their games and that is when I started to go to the library and read the horse magazines to see what was in other feed mixes. That's when Bubba and I got thrown out of the library and banned for a month. We got into a heated argument and I threw a magazine at him. It hit him in the face and out we went. Humm, That was embarrassing to explain to my parents why I was banned from the library." Suddenly Savannah remembered a detail. Excitedly she added, "Now I remember, father and I visited Bubba and his parents and I had to apologize to Bubba in front of everyone. That was worse than embarrassing! I was upset with father over that for ages: Bubba was okay about it." Savannah thought for a moment then added, "Funny how I forgot that small bit." She smiled at me and carried on. "That's when I decided to try my own mix. I knew I could do it for less than the big dealers so Bubba and I started mixing small batches of this and that. Or we would take a sweet feed mix and dilute it with something else. The nice thing about sweet feed is the bag has a label showing what is in it and what quantity. After a while I said I had found a mix that was the best and called it Savannah's Mix."

"Was it better?"

"Oh, I thought so back then and have stuck with it ever since. Bubba's father made a big deal out of it and got with one of the mixers to create the mix on a small scale then he pushed it hard telling who made it. Since everyone knew us it took off and has been a favorite about here ever since."

"That's quite a story."

"One of my better moments." She flopped back on the bed and added, "I guess I will be telling you stories forever."

"That's the price you pay for marrying an outsider."

"Tell me about it. I never thought about it until now. I never realized how much Tim and I had in common. Sort of always being there meant less chat. But you are a keeper and well worth spinning stories for."

The noise of feet coming up the stairs told us Georgia and John were just about to burst through the door. Savannah adjusted her clothing to be presentable to the twins as it was time to go down and eat.

After lunch Savannah took the kids upstairs for a nap and I told her I was saddling up Midas and Pepper, and not to be too long. She laughed as she was already in jeans shirt and boots. The Curtis' were willing to give us time together. They knew time alone was what we needed the most.

I brushed and cleaned the hoofs of the two horses. Arabians did not have the same appeal as American Quarter Horses like Pepper so I put Savannah's saddle on Midas and Peter's saddle on Pepper for me. There was something strangely familiar with all this. I stored the feeling away with all the other odd feelings I had every now and again. If something didn't come to me, I didn't dwell on it, I pushed it out of mind and let it fight for attention. Life was getting too short fore all this backtracking and wistful thinking about what may, or may not have happened. Amnesia can be a pain in the rear at times.

The horses were not spring chickens and I was concerned about their soundness if we went too far. Savannah had the foresight to bring a saddle bag with some snacks and water. We headed off up the to the end off the road and onto trails that lead us through the woods above her parents house and onto, what I was later to find out, her land. We didn't push the horses even though they wanted to break out of a walk and into a gallop many times. I decided at their age, it was not worth the risk and kept telling Pepper to walk.

Going through a long field that gently sloped onto the flat Savannah said, as we walked side by side, "O.G. you look so fine in the saddle. If I didn't know you better I'd say you were born in one. So different from when we were here the last time."

I looked at her and tipped my hat, "Why thank you Ma'am that is the sweetest complement I have heard in a long time. Now tell me the rest of the story."

"It seems like only yesterday, I guess it was a long time now. Back when you visited me here in June 2001." She was looking at me oddly, "Oh John, has it been that long? And so much has happened since we last rode through this field."

"We were here?"

"Uh huh," Was all I got out the absent Savannah. Then with surprise in her voice she said, "We've been riding the same ride we did way back when. It suddenly came to me that's what we are doing. Isn't that strange."

"Déjà vu, do you mean?"

"No. What I mean is I'm taking you the same route without thinking about it. The same way we did back then. It's like… it's like… This is so strange."

I reached over and she gave me her hand. "Did we do that?"

"Yes, and I was planning to have our snack at the same place. Gezz, this is all so weird."

I just smiled and added, "Join the club. Amnesia has a way of making things odd for me. I'm getting used to it."

We did stop at the same spot on our travels. It did not register with me, it did with Savannah. The wind rustled the leaves, the small stream moved by without any sound and the horses ate fresh grass while we snacked, leaned back against a tree and stayed in each other's arms. That is how the world should be, so why did the old John Tyree blow it so badly? I knew the answer but had difficulty reconciling patriotic duty with a girlfriend called Savannah. Of course, I would have chosen differently since I have the benefit of hindsight and he did not. One day I'd like to meet the old John Tyree.

Savannah did not need any help getting on Midas. She stuck her foot in the stirrup and swung up with ease. Damn, she was cute looking! Slowly she was losing the extra weight she gained with Tim. We carried on walking the horses and chatting.

As we wandered along the pathways Savannah asked, "What's it like not remembering while I do?"

I had thought about that question a lot. It definitely had its drawbacks. How to put my feelings into words that Savannah could understand was what I was wrestling with as I mulled as we rode. Slowly it came out this way, "Part of being married means we trust each other. You have the advantage as I trust you to be honest with me. You could lie and I'd never know." Leaning forward to adjust my seat I said, "But you won't. It's not you. You are honest as the day is long and will always be straight. With that trust I can accept the missing pieces." I added quickly, "I don't like it, but there is nothing I can do except hope." Then I went back to a slower pace, "I can wait for something or I can move forward. I prefer moving as waiting is so boring and gets me nowhere. If I waited, I'd be still in Germany going nowhere fast. By doing something the ducks fell into a row and brought me to you."

"Ducks in a row, was it? Never thought you'd be someone to follow ducks to my back door."

I wanted to say they weren't her ducks, they were Tim's. I decided not to. Sometimes it is better to leave the dead, and the ducks, where they are.

"The day-to-day stuff is fine. I have enough memories to handle that. It's when you say something from way back when," I sighed, "that's when it is difficult. That's what I miss the most. Remembering what the old John Tyree went through with you. All that I miss and need you to fill in."

Savannah nodded. Having bits missing is tough and tougher explaining what it is like to have bits missing.

Savannah was quiet for a while as we rode along. "Last night you were mumbling and turning quite a bit."

"Mmmm, yes." I let out another sigh. Looking about at the trees and grass, I said, "Amnesia is good and bad. Some people say it's good I don't remember all the places I've been and all the things I've done while in the army. I think I can agree with that. The down side is amnesia doesn't stop the bad dreams."

"Nightmares?"

"Yea, nightmares. Funny how the mind works. Some parts are shut off from me and others are still there but don't come out until it is dark. From talking to others I'm not that bad. Then again, what is bad? Some of the dreams get bad and bad can be really bad. Bad enough to be there, feel the action and smell it all." I looked at Savannah, she had turned a shade of white. We had never talked about nightmares as she had never asked and I never brought it up. Some things are best left alone.

"So last night was not that bad?"

"I don't think so as I didn't wake up."

Gezz O.G. How's it been since we got married?"

"Pretty darn good. Some of the best rest I have had in ages."

"So I'd better keep you happy," she added with a wolfish smile. Her color was returning.

Feigning deep thought I said, "That's a good starting point." I was ready for a whack but got a kick instead.

"Men! I should have expected it: with or without amnesia!"

The ride back to her parent's place was really enjoyable. The late winter weather was comfortable to ride in.

The minute we came in to the coral the twins came running over to their mother. They had missed her and wanted attention. She left me to tend to the horses while she wandered off chatting to the twins and they chatted back using words that only they knew and understood. I was glad we had the time away to help build the foundation we need.

"How was Pepper?" Asked Peter from the depths of the stalls. I did not see him back there.

"Did I ride him before?"

"Young man, it is never proper to answer a question from a teacher with a question. I usually throw a piece of chalk at you. That was in the good old days of capital punishment. Now all I can do is count the days until I can retire and wish the next fool good luck."

"Sorry. I should have said, Pepper behaved himself properly."

"And I should have said, yes, he is the same horse you rode a long time ago. Seems both of you are a little older. Only Pepper here is closer to retirement than you are. I would say is time we have a new horse for you. For Savannah, she loves Midas too much and will not be moved until the vet says so. That's how it's been with her before. She has a strong sense of attachment and contentment. For people to." He added the last sentence with a twinkle in his eye. "How was the ride?"

I had to think quickly. Had there was a difference between his first and second questions? Then I realized there was and I almost missed it. "This is pretty country, very different than before and close to Germany."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Savie said you rode in Germany."

"Yes Sir, very much like here." Then I answered his question, "Pepper is a bit slow, then again I'd rather be slow and sure than fast and flat on my back."

Peter smiled as he put his arm under Pepper's neck and gave him an affectionate pat on the far side. "Pepper and I have been all over this place, haven't we Pepper? Up and down every hill and along every path you can find and a few you can't find any more. You know, we actually made some paths just for the fun of it. Yes, we have had fun about Lenoir. You, on the other hand, need a horse to see you through the coming years. Salt and Pepper came from a ranch in Texas while Midas came from Louisiana. These three are the best of the group. Oh, the others maybe younger, but it's not the same." Peter turned and wagged his finger at me, "Take note young man, we often turn to the familiar as a point of comfort. I wonder if it is the same between Savannah and you. Silent strings calling each other that only you two can hear." He lifted his eyebrows at me in a questioning way. I was thinking this old history teacher should have taught romantic English.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

I had not put one foot on the Wheddon property and Savannah had made no mention of it even though it was right over the dead-end country road upon which we lived.

The next day, after breakfast had been eaten and the dishes done, dried and put away that I took John for a walk. I stuck my digital camera in my pocket.

If there was one thing I have learnt about amnesia it is get a camera and take photographs. The number of photographs I have of my previous life was unbelievably thin. I have often wondered why. Why didn't father take photographs? What about my friends at school? Why was I not in any photographs in the yearbooks? And on and on I puzzled, all to no avail. I had received a few more photographs from my old neighbor. She was still constant in writing small letters with stories she remembered and, every now and again, a battered black and white photograph. Her stories were getting smaller and smaller as she had passed on the major memories and what remained was dwindling. Despite the size of her letter, I always replied with gratitude. I was grateful there was someone who remembered me from a long time ago. In fact there was reassurance in having someone who could go back that far. In a sense my neighbor validated my existence while I could not.

I was in the habit of carrying my camera with me virtually everywhere. I would pull it out and snap away. Memories are made virtually all the time. Some stay while others are too trivial to bother with. Then comes the problem of recalling the good memories. That is where the photographs come in. They jog the little gray cells and the full memory floods back, and then you can have the joy of reliving the event in full Technicolor.

I didn't want to loose any new memories: hence the camera and a snap-happy finger.

John was very different from Georgia. Even at their young age I could see the difference. Georgia was imperceptibly more advanced. Rather than pick him up I held his hand, or rather, he grasped my finger with his hand as we walked over the road.

We walked past the hand-painted sign moving in the slight breeze stating this is the "Hope and Horses" place, down the gravel road toward the house. We walked passed a battered Chevy pickup sitting under a willow tree. The driver's side front tire was pancake flat. I snapped photos as we walked to create an "as found" condition collection. I felt it was important to preserve the memories that were obviously here, even though I didn't have a clue what they were or could be. Call it a hunch.

The house was two story, wood and brick construction with a chimney pointing towards the sky and white paint flaking badly from most of the wood. The large front porch looked well used with a thermometer close to the main door and ancient wind chimes hanging quietly close by. Listening closely, I could imagine the stories that this old house could tell. I put John on the old two-person swinging chair and rocked him for a while. He liked that. I kept snapping away as memory was plentiful and the camera was fully charged.

Sitting patiently by the door were five pairs of well used cowboy boots, three female and two male. The mud had dried and cracked that when I put my foot on the porch some fell off. They needed cleaning and a bit of Neatsfoot Oil to stop them from drying out too far.

I noticed off to the side of the house a weathered red barn, a shed and a small corral. I still didn't know why all barns in America have to be a specific shade or red. One day I really must find out: I'm sure the answer is on the Internet. Beyond the barn stretched one of the pastures we had ridden through the other day. In the barn I could see the hulks of old field equipment covered in dust and other farm junk waiting to be hauled off to a more worthwhile future.

There was a familiar spirit about the place. Like a voice speaking to me from the very dust of the place.

Before I entered the house I picked up John. He seemed happy on my hip. I opened the door and entered the foyer. Peter told me nothing was locked, that's the way it had been for ever.

The air had a slight musty smell that I assumed came from the house being shut up and not being used in a while. There was slight covering of dust on the letter table to my left. In the letter rack was several unopened letters. One had the name of a hospital on it. John rubbed his nose on my sleeve. I wanted to do the same except his sleeve was too small so I pulled out my large red handkerchief and used it.

The wooden floor and painted wall paneling looked stout enough for many more generations of barefooted kids running in and out. To the right was the formal dining room while to the left was the living room. I could see papers strewn about the dining room table. The stairs up were to the right and straight in front was a corridor that I knew would take me to the kitchen.

How I knew the kitchen was through the corridor was something I pushed aside as one of those deals that are not worth bothering about as there was nothing of substance behind it. I went that way just the same.

The kitchen was small since back in the good old days there were virtually no modern appliances to clutter up the place. I halfway guessed that this was the second kitchen made out of a converted room as most houses of this age had a separate kitchen with open fire for cooking. I had to smile as it was obvious that there had been many remodeling attempts. The stainless steel sink complete with window through which any competent mother could yell at her kids. Tired linoleum, cracked counter top, heavily painted and once white cabinets dotted the walls. And, somehow there in the midst of the old was a large refrigerator, a dishwasher and a small microwave. It was the incongruous look that made me smile. I opened a couple of cabinets and viewed mason jars and a mishmash of cups, plates and wine glasses. I spied a couple bottles of wine hiding on the floor out of the way and that hit me hard. There was something good about being in this kitchen. There was something strangely familiar. Something I wanted to savor. I sat down on a chair for a moment and pulled it all in. There were deep movements of a fight going on. It was a physical argument deep inside my head. It was real, it was tangible and it was frightening all at the same time. I gave a shudder as I fought for control.

I remembered reading of stories of people who had amnesia and how they got their memory back. None of them said it was like a physical fight inside. Most said one day it just came back… just like snapping your finger. Some got it all back, and others just got some. I was wondering if they were all lying to me as this was hurting deep inside.

Despite it all no memories returned.

I opened a few doors downstairs and realized no one was lying to me about the clutter. I carried John upstairs and had a look. One room was obviously Alan's while all the others were piled with boxes of various types and sizes. This was more than what I bargained for. Since I was now married, it was time to Cowboy Up and get going. The upstairs bathroom had gone through many regenerations since, as I guessed, the original house didn't have running water. As we came down the stairs, we stopping to look at the two grimy oil paintings on the landing.

I stopped at the dinning room to have a look at what was on the table. Obviously to someone, there was some method to the mess as there were papers and photos scattered about the table. To one side of the table were three large scrapbooks. Carefully inscribed on the covers were the names of, John, Georgia and Tim Wheddon. Savannah had been working on a scrapbook for each child with photographs of them with their father. The top one was Georgia's. I turned over the pages carefully. There was something akin to walking on Tim's grave as I turned the pages and read the carefully typed caption under each photograph. Obviously John and Georgia had bigger books as they were older and had done more with their father. Despite being so young they had a pile of photographs that did not make it into their scrapbook.

The photos start off with a healthy looking father. As the photos progress Tim is getting thinner and the action moves from Tim standing to Tim sitting and finally to Tim sitting up in bed. The last photographs are of an emaciated man with a healthy child.

For Tim, there were only a few photographs of Tim with his pregnant wife, Savannah. How sad Tim never had the chance to meet his own father. I had to pull out my handkerchief and give a good blow to keep my composure. My heart went out to this little family facing what every family should not have to face. I only hope I can make the kids proud to be a Wheddon and follow in their father's footsteps.

I was just about to leave the room when I noticed on the side table an ancient tape recorder and a shoe box full of Memorex tapes. I flipped open a tape to see what was written on it. 'Tim to John, Vol #1' The second tape was volume two and so on through ten tapes for John. The next ten were from father to daughter. In the second box were three from father to unborn Tim and two to Savannah. This time I could not help it. I used the handkerchief to take away the moisture in the corners of my eyes.

Even though the photos of Tim did not register, the scrapbooks and tapes did. Even facing the ultimate challenge of his short life, Tim still felt obliged to fulfill his responsibilities of being a husband and father. "Damn, his shoes are going to be tough to fill!" I thought as John and I headed toward the front door. It was time for us to go back over the road.

I closed the door and looked out in front of the house and there stood Savannah. She looked so small standing there with her right hand crossing over to her left elbow. It was when I took a step off the porch that I froze. I turned around fast and then back at Savannah. I did it again. There was déjà vu written all over this picture.

I said loudly to Savannah, "Why are you standing in that spot?"

I was walking toward her in a hurry. I had a creepy feeling up and down my back. "Why are you standing at that particular spot?"

"I don't know… I just am."

"No, it's all wrong. I'm here," I said pointing to the very spot she was standing on, "and you're there." I said pointing back to the house. "That's how it was."

Savannah turned several shades of white and reached for John. "How do you know that?" She asked after a while.

"I… I… I don't know," was my futile answer. "I just know. Sounds stupid doesn't it, but I do."

Savannah stepped close and put her spare arm about my neck and pulled me close. "No it doesn't. It makes all the sense in the world."

"It does?"

"Yes. I suppose I better tell you a bit more." Before I could ask what she meant, she added, "Let's go back home."

Hand in hand we walked back across the road to her parent's house. Coming back to Lenoir was good and bad. It seemed to me the good side was her parent's side of the road while the bad side was the Wheddon's side of the road. I had to be patient and let Savannah share the good and bad with me in her own way and time.

Baggage is a terrible thing to carry alone.

We had a light lunch as the Curtis' were out. Savannah did not say where, just out. After lunch we slowly put down the children for their afternoon nap. I felt very comfortable with the routine almost to the point of not remembering too much of my former routine of being a ranch manager. I was almost asleep with the children when Savannah touched me and indicated it was our time to go down stairs. She led me out to the porch and sat on the porch steps looking out over her father's small ranch. Heavy clouds were rolling in and more rain was predicted for the next few days.

"You know," Savannah started, "I said you were my first love. I meant it. Before you there was just boys to know and beat at school. You opened me up to something new and wonderful. Oh how I missed you when you went back. It felt like life wasn't worth living: I felt crushed. There were times I would cry myself to sleep and other times I'd lay on the bed wondering what you were doing. Most of the time I'd just pray you would survive one more day since that meant you were one more day closer to coming home."

I sat beside her and put my arm about her shoulders, and listened.

"Then came 9/11 and all that. As bad as it was, your reenlisting was so much more worse. I think if you were stationed here it would have been different. Having you overseas made it all so bad. I so much wanted to ask you why? Why did you choose the army over me? There was times I honestly felt you preferred the army to me." Savannah rested her head on my chest, paused, and carried on. "I felt rejected and only second class to the army. I know that sounds silly and stupid now, not back then. I felt alone and insecure. I had no anchor to hold me steady. I felt so alone with no one to talk to."

The gray sky was getting blown about as a cold front was starting to make its way across the area. Off in the distance thunder rumbled and you could smell the moisture in the air.

"Everything started to change for me when I was a senior at UNC. It was spring semester 2002. Maybe it was my reaction to your reacting to 9/11. Your reenlisting… maybe it was my low point… I have often wondered… why. I have no answers only questions." Savannah slowed up, her voice trailed off as she became lost in thought. Several minutes later she came back to me, "Even though Tim was in graduate school we had a couple of classes together. Since we knew each other we would study together in the library and help each other. He was a good teacher and I needed his help."

"You know…" I started.

"No, you need to know," She said firmly. Then she smiled at me and added, "And I need to tell. The word is catharsis, if you want to look it up."

She regrouped and carried on. "Tim was your biggest cheerleader. You know that don't you? He helped me stay focused on you and when you would be home. He has always been a good listener and I needed someone I could talk to." In a more serious voice she clarified certain points. "We never dated, held hands or even went out on a date. Very proper we were. Just that I've known Tim so long, he was there while you were not."

"You know, now that I have hindsight, that was the starting point. Getting that little bit closer to Tim and a little bit further away from you… I have often thought about it… often wondered and asked myself a thousand questions." She gave a short embarrassing laugh, "You know, I still don't know the answer." She shivered slightly, "I wish I did."

We slid into silence as I ran my fingers through her hair and rubbed the back of her neck. I stayed quiet letting Savannah carry on at her own pace.

"Then I graduated from UNC and in October I moved back home. At least while I was at school I had to go to class. Once I graduated, I slipped. Each day I had to fight with myself to get up. I wanted to curl up in bed and wait for you to come and rescue me. I knew you would one day, just that that day was so far away. By November 2002 I had found a great job at the developmental evaluation center here in Lenoir. You went back to Kosovo, again. You said more a police action than anything else. I was working with the new kids just after they came in for evaluation. It was so different and challenging than anything school could prepare me for. I jumped in with both feet which helped me stay focused on you and when you would be coming home. I guess I was too busy learning to think about anything else.

It was pretty soon after I came back home and was working that Tim's parents died in a car crash while coming home from Asheville on I-40. It was bad. Tim's father lost control of the car, ran through the median and into the path of an oncoming semi. They died instantly. Tim was home that night to take care of his brother Alan." Savannah flashed me a look and asked, "You know about Alan, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Of course Tim had to tell Alan what had happened. Had to really. Sooner or later Alan would wonder where his parents were. When he told Alan Alan lost it. He went about the house screaming, punching the walls, banging his head with his fists and pulling his hair out in big clumps. We were ready to use a straight jacket, it got that bad. Finally, Tim managed to calm him down."

"Tim quit graduate school and moved home and started work on the funeral. That was a mess as there was not much left to bury. Of course Alan wanted to see them one last time and poor Tim had to explain why it was a closed coffin funeral. From the funeral to the courts and probate. At least his parents had wills which made Tim executor. Tim was running ragged and always had Alan with him. There was no way Alan was going to let his brother out of his sight."

"I would go over in the evenings to sit and chat," Savannah's voice started to choke up, but she pressed on. "We would chat and I'd try and return the favor of consoling him as he did for me. I'd try and help Alan, more to give Tim a break to take care of the mounds of paperwork he was facing. I wasn't very good as all Alan wanted to do is be close to his brother. At least we got Alan to be quiet if he was in the same room with Tim. That is when he started to play more and more games on his computer. I think Alan retreated away from life when he lost his parents. Sad really as he was doing so well." Savannah looked at me and added, "Life isn't fair, is it?" She was not expecting a reply.

"My heart went out to him." Her voice cracked a little more and I could feel her quietly crying. I held her quietly in my arms.

There are times when a hug is all you can do. I closed my eyes and held on to my wife.

She picked up the story after she had gained a semblance of composure, "It's not like we meant to. I mean, we both felt bad about it and we both felt like we were betraying a trust, a bond, a commitment to you. In the end we gave up, gave in and fell in love. We had known each other for ever and everyone suspected it or guessed we would: everyone that is except us."

Oh John, it was four days before Christmas 2003, when you called me. You tried to stay upbeat and reminded me it was less than a year before you would be home. I didn't know what to say. By then Tim and I were a pair. I didn't have the nerve to tell you. I should have then and there been honest: I chickened out. Gezz, I should have. That Christmas was the worst you could imagine. I had no Christmas cheer. There was you and there was Tim. Maybe I chose the easy path since Tim was here and you were still ages away and we were not getting on very well." Her feelings made her voice become smaller and higher in pitch. Savannah was struggling. "The day after Christmas I chose. I made the conscious decision to choose. I picked Tim over you." That is when she broke down and cried the plaintive cry only certain depths of the soul can ever fathom. Her whole body shook with the sobs of despair and anguish. I held her close. Oh how I wished there was something I could do to make things better. There was not.

Since I could not remember what she had been talking about, I was soaking it up worse than a sponge. Hearing the story is one thing, understanding it is another, and mulling it over in your mind is something else. I knew this was important for Savannah to get out and I had to have the patience to let her. So far, I daren't stop and think, all I could do was listen. As per _Back to the Future_, this was heavy stuff!

Savannah let out a long and deep sigh. She dabbed her eyes and tried to smile at me. She was seeking my soul not my verbal approval. I kissed her on her forehead; her cheeks, her lips and her neck. We made out like starving bandits right there on the porch. I really didn't care who saw us, we were legal.

We came up for air and regrouped. We had passed an important point in the story. Savannah was collected as she continued. "The day after Christmas is when I wrote the letter explaining what had happened. That was the letter I sent but you kept moving and, I guess, the letter kept chasing after you. Next you went to Turkey, to Kuwait and finally to Iraq. Your last letter was dated March 17, 2003. You were not sure if you would live or die and wanted to make sure I know you loved me. At that point I shut down. I didn't know where to turn. I had Tim with me in Lenoir and you getting shot at."

"Later, from the Internet I found out you crossed the Euphraties River at Samawah in the early morning of April 4, and pushed on to the town. In the heart of Samawah it was house to house fighting. I think it said your unit was working through outlying areas working your way in.

Mail was delivered at the railroad station at Samawah. That is when my letter finally caught up with you. Not very good timing on my part."

"Early in 2003, while you were bouncing about Europe, Tim was offered a job at the developmental evaluation center. Obviously we car pooled to and from work since we lived next door to each other. Then Tim started talking about a weekend program for autistic kids out here on the ranch. All that work and time together made it feel just right, except for you. That is why I sent the letter. I had to send it. I had to end it."

Savannah turned round to face me. She had an earnest look on her face. "Oh John, I wish you could remember that part. Then I'm glad you don't. I'm glad you don't have the anger or bad feelings toward me for ending everything with a letter. I didn't have the nerve to do it over the phone, I chickened out and did it in a letter. I've always regretted doing it that way. I want you to know that. I still regret ending it… that way." Those dark eyes, the toused hair and the gap between her front teeth. How could I carry any anger or animosity toward Savannah? Sometimes Amnesia has its advantages!

"With Tim's parents insurance money we started to fix up the house. I don't know how Tim's parents could live there. Leaky roof, windows that did not fit and doors that stuck. I mean the work was never ending. We stuck at it and slowly it started to improve, even though you'd never guess looking at it."

"We had work, the week-end autistic kids, Alan to look after and Tim had to get the estate settled. Time passed quickly that year. We decided to get married and my parents went wild. They planned and schemed and went a little overboard. We were married at my parent's house, this house, in November 2003 and moved over the road and kept working on the house. You know something? Mother's lasagna was Tim's favorite. He would sneak over and ask her to make some and then invite us to dinner. And you liked it to. Strange that.

"In late 2004, Tim had a spot on the back of his leg. Six months later he went to see a doctor about it and within days he was in surgery. It was melanoma. Then he started interferon treatment. You visited us in August 2005…"

"I what?"

"No one told you?"

"Not until now."

"Oh…"

"What do you mean by oh?"

"I mean oh, that's difficult." There was a long pause while Savannah thought. She smiled at me and said, "Would you mind if I skip that at the moment. In some ways that's a longer story."

Not knowing the story, I said, "Okay."

"Thanks. One story a day is enough for the moment."

She frowned and carefully picked up the thread she was using, "Up to that point Tim was struggling to hold his own. Struggling but slowly slipping. If it wasn't for the donation, which I'm sure came from you, Tim would have died a lot quicker. What you did was beyond our wildest hope. With your money Tim was admitted to a vaccine trial at M D Anderson Cancer Center and it was fantastic. In four months Tim was technically in remission and able to come home and start getting better. It was so kind of you. Of course back then we had no idea where the money came from and that is when I started to wonder."

"You visited Lenoir again in 2006, this time you didn't visit us." Holding up a hand Savannah answered, "I know because you stayed at the same place you did the times before. People remembered then man with the big tattoos. You are too predictable for someone in the army."

"Was in the army," I corrected.

"Either way, you are supposed to mix it up. Wear a disguise, and cover those tattoo's as they are too noticeable, especially the Chinese one."

I was glad she added some levity into the mix. We needed a smile. "Your second visit, since you did not get close, you did not notice I was pregnant with the twins. The twins were born early in February 2007." She closed her eyes as she remembered a painful point, "Twins, Alan and everything else going on changed life from a three ring circus to a mad house. Some how we kept going. We had to since we were now parents. Alan felt it the most. We did not have the time to spend with him like we used to. We had to take care of twins in that big drafty old house. Alan retreated more and more into his computer games for company and there was little we could do. At least they had each other. I think Alan knowing Tim was close by helped."

"We were getting ready to spend some of the extra money on the house when the cancer came back. Back Tim went to the M D Anderson Cancer Center. This time the prognosis was different. The cancer was back and had spread. By early December Tim had had enough. We started working on getting our estate into order and getting ready for the inevitable. Christmas 2007 was our first and last Christmas as a family. We took so many photographs that our eyes were bleary from all the flashes. My parents came over and brought the food, lasagna, what else. We sang Christmas carols, told old family stories and tried to remember that each Christmas is followed by Easter when the Master dies on the cross. We have it on DVD for the twins to watch one day."

"I think you know the rest of the story. In March 2008 I became pregnant and in April Tim died peacefully at home. In May I took Aunt Bess' offer to come for a visit and that is when I bumped into you early one Saturday morning. Tim was born in November 2008 and on February 14, 2009 we were married."

I was still soaking in the story that Savannah was weaving. So beguiling that I forgot that it was about us, me, Tim, his and our family. Such a tail could never be dreamed up. This was one case when fact was stranger than fiction. I had heard every word and now I was replaying snippets from here and there. Trying to make sense of it all. I became lost in my thoughts when Savannah poked me in the ribs.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"What are you thinking of?" She asked in a feisty voice. I knew she was springing back to normal.

I wanted to say, "Hell, I don't know," but had second thoughts about the expletive word at the front. So I only said, "I don't know."

Savannah was ready and popped me on the arm and said, "I knew you would say that. I don't care if you have amnesia or not, that was your standard answer to questions when you didn't want to give anything away."

Then Savannah became serious very quickly. Out of her Jacket pocket she pulled a DVD and handed it to me. "The letter I gave you from Tim was sealed. I did not read it. Before he died, he made this DVD for you and then he asked me to give this to you if we should ever marry. I told him I couldn't promise that: because of your visit in 2006. Tim would never tell me what you two talked about and I could not promise him in return. Maybe it was unfair to him, but he could be such a stubborn old boot when he wanted to be."

"After he died I could see no future. All was black and grim. Then I remembered this DVD and put it in. The scheming devil knew you were in the adjacent ranch and hoped we would find each other once again. Then when Aunt Bess actually asked me to come, I did. He had planned it all out and the DVD was to congratulate you and to thank you. There's more stuff, but that DVD made me want to come and was the reason I came back. I didn't want to lose you ever again. I will fight morning, noon and night to keep the name of John Tyree as my own."

The quiet afternoon was broke by the poise of a crying Tim. It had been long enough that nap time was over and diapers had to be changed. I got up first and held out my hand. Savannah took hold in a firm grip. I knew I had made the right choice in marrying this one. I pulled her up and toward me so I could kiss her briefly before swinging in to action. I took care of Tim while she dealt with the twins. By the time the kids were changed, I gave Tim to Savannah for feeding and I took the twins away for a light snack and a drink. We had this routine going pretty well. We were jelling as a couple.

That night we went to bed early. That was the plan: the kids had other ideas. We read story after story until I said that was enough and turned out the lights. That was when the fussing started, it did not last for long as they were tired from being outside in the evening helping with the chores. Then Savannah and I had time for ourselves. After, as we lay there, as I massaged her back from top to bottom, I mused, "Without the money do you think you would have had the kids?"

Savannah moved slightly. She was already drifting off. In a half awake voice came, "You don't mess about do you. You go from trying to make kids to talking about the three we have."

"Well?"

"Yeh, I've thought about it. I've thought about it a lot and I think you are right. No drugs and a well Tim meant we were good. I've told you about Tim… Now leave me alone, I need my beauty sleep. And you missed my left shoulder. Get back to work."


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

"Okay Sparky, time to rise and shine!" was my wakeup call the next day. It was unbelievably early, the sun wasn't up and it was cold. My brain was not functioning too well as I wondered what was going on. Obviously, someone had a good night's rest and it wasn't me!

"What… what? What's happening?"

"Come on Sparky, we have things to do. Honeymoon is over and now comes the work."

"What? What are you talking about?" I was having trouble focusing on the arms of my watch. I still used an analogue watch as it tells the time in time and space rather than a crude digital watch, which shows only numbers. Once I saw what the time was, I said in a rather annoyed voice, "It's five thirty in the blessed morning!"

"Yep, so let's get going."

"Going where?"

"Going to get your Harley and drop off some stuff."

"Girl, what are you talking about?" I was slowly realizing something was going on. Something happened to Savannah and somehow I missed it. "Are you okay?"

"Never felt better. Yesterday was good."

I was scrambling to think which part of yesterday was good. I was sure what I felt was good was not what Savannah felt was good. One of the first lessons I learnt in Germany was, _Guys Are From Mars, Girls Are From Venus_ when it comes to ideas and notions.

"Hurry up and get dressed, we need to get loaded up and out of here."

I rolled out of bed, groped about on the floor and found yesterday's jeans and semi clean 'Don't Mess with Texas' t-shirt. Hay, what do you expect, I'm an ex-Cowboy guy! Savannah gave me the evil eye for putting yesterday's clothes back on. Definitely the wrong move. I made a mental note, 'Don't wear yesterday's clothes while Savannah's about.'

"Get out there and start loading up the trailer while I deal with the kids." Savannah said while I put on two-day old socks and my boots. Somehow, and against my better judgment, things were moving along without me.

I slipped on my Carhartt, hat and headed over the road to see what happed last night.

Yesterday afternoon, after the kids awoke and Savannah's parents came back, her father took me out for a drive about town. We were gone for several hours as he gave me a detailed tour and history lesson of his and Tim's family. When we got back, I did notice the truck and trailer backed up to the Wheddon place: but did not think to ask why. That's when we ate and took off for an early night.

I stumbled a few times as I crossed the road. Not many lights out side except for the one porch light at the Wheddon's place. I walked around the trailer and opened the front door of the house to face a row of plastic bags, all neatly labeled, all ready to go. The sticky label said to load the bags onto the trailer carefully and close the separation gate behind the bags. I got to work. Savannah joined me after a while. "Kids are changed and back in bed."

"Oh," Was all I could say this early in the morning.

With all the bags loaded, she told me to follow her. Next, we started to load up certain furniture pieces. I was still too bleary eyed to ask anything. I knew there was time enough for that as we drove south. As we loaded, Savannah threw a blanket here and there to protect corners. Then she set to work with the ropes and bungee straps.

"You've done this before," I muttered.

"With kids you learn how to pack."

"Oh."

We had the 36' gooseneck loaded from one end to the other. Somehow, in the few hours I was gone, Savannah went over the road and started to pack clothes into the bags and selected shat she wanted to move out. How she did it I shall never know. She was worse than the _Blues Brothers_ on a mission!

She went to get the kids while I collected the car seats and put them in the back seat in a row, with Tim in the middle. It seemed to be the best arrangement to avoid problems between the troublesome twins. Once loaded, we started on our odyssey back to the Circle O Ranch.

We stopped four times on the road, three for food and diaper changing and once for a spilled jar of baby food.

It was four in the afternoon when we pulled in to the Circle O Ranch. We had called ahead and were ready for us when we pulled in. Waiting were Bill, Pedro, Jose and Geraldo. While they were unloading the back Savannah and I were unloading the kids from their seats. The twins were not happy campers despite all the stops. They wanted to be out of their seats and running about. Tim also wanted to get out, but he was held so he could look about.

Pedro unhitched the truck and we carefully drove the short distance to Aunt Bess' ranch where we were going to stay. Aunt Bess was over the moon having her grandchildren back. Her face and demeanor lit up as the twins ran over to her and then Savannah dropped Tim into her lap. Aunt Bess cooed and tickled Tim while the twins sat on each side.

It was Savannah that heard the low grumble of the truck engine announcing Attie's arrival. I guessed she was back to feed Spot. Then came the slam of the truck door and the crunch of the gravel before she hit the porch and then yelled through the kitchen door, "Hay, that you O.G.?

Savannah gave the reply of, "And me."

Attie came quickly in to the living room full of smiles. I got up and gave her a big hug. It was good to see her. Savannah got up to give a hug and then Attie picked up Tim and started to swing him about all the while Tim was chuckling.

"How long are you guys staying?"

I looked at Savannah as this was her show. She thought and said, "A day or so. We are dropping some stuff off and picking up O.G.'s motorbike."

"Oh," was Attie's sad reply.

"You can come visit over summer and clean out our stalls,"

"Is that all I am to you people, a slave?"

I looked at Savannah, and she at me. We both burst into laughter at the same time. Then in a serious voice, I said, "No, no, of course not."

Attie waltzed out of the room with Tim in hand. She walked about through the kitchen and the halls before coming back. "I get my own room, TV, Internet connection and weekends free. Oh, and pocket money."

"That's all?" I asked.

"That's a starting point."

"We'll think about it… so long as you are okay on diaper changing."

"Pah, easy peasy."

"How long are you going to stay to night?"

"Long enough to feed Spot and then I'm off."

"Can you hold off feeding for a while so Savannah and I can go for a ride?"

Attie said okay and I took off back to the Circle O Ranch and rode Blackie back. By the time I got back Savannah had saddled up Spot and we took off for a ride. With younger horses we walked, cantered and galloped along the fields as we headed up to the top of Knowles Rise.

"You ride well," Savannah said when we got to the top.

"Practice was all I needed. And I know these hills like the back of my hand. I guess it feels good to be back in the saddle."

We got down and stood side by side and watch the sun go down slowly. It was chilly as spring was not yet here.

"I needed to get that off my chest," Savannah said, "yesterday, that is. I needed to say it, and when we went to bed and you didn't bolt for the door, I know we can make it."

I countered with, "When I saw you the first time, standing there in the kitchen, with your hair on rollers, I knew you were the one. How I knew it, I don't know. Definitely not your rollers, or your dressing gown. How it would all work out, again I didn't know. I had faith something would fall into play."

"You did?"

"Yep."

"You've never said that before."

"You've never asked." Then I had a question I wanted to ask, "The DVD, why did you watch it?"

Staring out into the dusk Savannah said, "I was afraid I had lost you. You looked so hurt, upset and unhappy with me, I thought it was over. I was desperate; I didn't know what to do."

"What about your parents?"

"Oh no. I had not told them about you. I mean, Tim was only days in the grave and have me chasing men… Not what a weeping widow is supposed to do. It was Aunt Bess that told me to get my act together. She told me what it is to be alone in graphic detail and then compared being alone with the time I had spent with you and how different I was. It was at this low point I remembered the DVD and I popped it in."

"I could really strangle Tim. I'd like to see that letter he had me give you. Then he pressed the DVD into my hands and made me promise, pinky promise, mind you, to give that DVD to you if we should ever get married. I laughed at him, but he was deadly serious. Of course I said yes, not realizing what that buzzard was up to."

Ah yes, Tim's letter. It was safely tucked away with the studs and cufflinks I received as a wedding present.

"There he was propped up in bed talking to you like you two were long lost buddies. Then he gets down to business going over how we met down at Wilmington. The first bit was ho-hum…"

"Ho-hum?"

Yes, ho-hum."

"No one says ho-hum these days,"

Gezz O.G., stop interrupting and let me tell it my way." She glared at me and continued, "It was the last bit that hit home. He read me worse than a book. He knew I still had a place reserved for you in my heart that no one could ever come close to. Even he admitted he could never compete with you. But that is not how life dealt the cards and he wanted nothing but the best for us as he knew we had a special bond."

"It was then I realized I was wrong and I had to do something, or lose you to the Jones girls. You remember that day you came over and they were looking after the twins. Well, you should have heard what they were saying about you. They were not too happy having me in the area. Then again, they were playing the 'hard to get' game a little to hard: and they both lost."

"You mean I had a chance?"

"Oh yes, with both of them. The trouble was, they were more worried about each other and their father finding out, than you. You see, sometimes the best approach is the direct one. If that does not work, adjust and move on. Then I came along and that, as they say, was that."

"You won't remember the very first day we met it was a full moon and we walked under it. It was an omen for us and from then on, wherever we were we would walk out under the full moon knowing you and I were doing the same thing. Then, when I came home to have Tim, Aunt Bess argued tooth and nail for me to come back with her, and we had to get back before the full moon. I wasn't sure… she knew better.

Remember I said you'd come back to Lenoir without telling anyone? You signed in at the same run-down motel you stayed at before. It was the day of a full moon. I don't think it was a coincident you chose that day. I think you were there, somewhere about the house, checking up on me. Yes, I loved Tim with all my heart. I also loved you with all my heart, but you were the first and between the two is a large difference."

"And, Sparky, that is why you were out on this hill every full moon and I was outside Aunt Bess' house. I was remembering the old John Tyree and wondering about the new John Tyree and would we get together. I didn't know you were up here watching me down there. That is why I know, despite amnesia, the two John Tyree's have the same heart and soul. Loving one is the same as loving the other."

"So, the minute we got back Aunt Bess was on the phone to Bill making sure you rode out and then she kicked me out to 'get me a man.' I froze on that ride. I was worse than a Popsicle. Then again, if I didn't try I knew I had to face myself for the rest of my life asking why."

"You scared the heck out of me," I said quietly. "My mind was else ware and I almost fell out of the saddle." I smiled, "That was the bravest thing you could have done, and I'm glad you did it."

I looked at my watch and added, "Time to go back." I was glad I didn't have to give Savannah a boost any more. She mounted Spot, turned and looked at me looking at her. I had a wide smile on my face.

"Like what you see?" There it was, the friendly smile showing the gap in her front teeth and the quick flick of her hand as she pushed a few strands of loose hair back behind her ear. Despite having given birth to three babies, she still had a cute figure that was good to look at..

I just nodded and kept looking at my wife. She sat and moved with the motion of the horse. I could ride behind her for ever and watch in amazement at her. This was one of those times I had to pinch myself to remind myself Savannah was my wife.

We had plans of going to bed early: that is not what happened. The kids were up late since they slept too long. We read quite a few books to the twins while I fed Tim. Tim had progressed from only breast milk to taking a bottle every now and again. This evening I fed him a bottle and that knocked him out.

We stayed with Aunt Bess the next day making sure the kids were outside, running about and spending time with Attie and Spot. We wanted them tired as we were planning to go back to Lenoir the following day. I tell you what, planning around kids is worse than an army campaign.

We left early with the Harley strapped into the trailer. It was on the drive back to Lenoir that Savannah started to talk about the Wheddon house. I drove and she told the story that I had been wondering about.

"You know father was born at the Weddon house. Tim's mother, Sylvia, was the local midwife and one day Grandmother was over there, visiting, and father came in a hurry."

"I'm not sure how many Wheddon's were born there, a load according to father. Tim and Alan were also born there. His parents lived there as well as Alan. And that is where Tim died."

"And you visited us there. That was right after your father died in August 2005. Nothing could prepare us for that. I guess we were lucky we didn't know you were coming. I think if Tim knew you were coming he'd find a way to get out of hospital. He was always worried you would show up one day and break his nose again."

"I broke his nose?"

"That, as they say, is another story. You didn't mean to, it just happened. Remind me to tell you that one, one day."

"It is funny to remember how Tim would get worried if he saw someone like you in town. He would phone and ask if you had shown up. I would say no and try and calm him down. And then you showed up, standing in the drive way. You were right. I have stood in that spot so many times… You came because you said there was no other place to go. Seeing you made me question everything I had done since I wrote you that letter. I really wondered if I had done the right thing. And then you said you would still marry me in a heartbeat. Oh, John, I wanted to be back in your arms. I wanted to feel you holding me like you did before. Fortunately you were stronger than me and knew what would happen if we did anything. You had the strength to end it there. Going cold turkey was the best way. I hated you for that, but you were right. I was married and you were not."

Savannah gave a small laugh as she remembered something. She looked out the side window as we drove. I was guessing there were tears she did not want me to see. Quickly she brushed her cheeks and shook herself back together.

"Every time I look at you I see the old John Tyree coming through loud and clear. Not in words so much, it is what you do and say. There is no difference between the old and new. You still have the heart of gold that I fell for. And I was glad you wanted to wait until we were married. Sort of typical Tyree style."

I loved listening to Savannah as she wandered along memory lane. It was enchanting and beguiling at the same time. She was free with the stories and did not embellish them too much. And when she did, you could tell by the sparkle in her eyes.

In many ways I wish I could remember the old stories. Then again, if I did, I would not pay so much attention to Savannah and how she remembered them. Sometimes amnesia has it's advantages.

"We moved in to the Wheddon house after we got married and started to work on it. The roof was first and then we made a list of tasks to do and put them in descending importance. A very logical and long list. We were single and would spend evenings and weekends chipping away at each task. It was a lot of work for both of us. Since we had school bills to pay, money was tight and we worked on it as we could. They were good times and Alan had settled down to the new routine.

"Then Tim started collecting family stuff as other family members started to hear he was interested in genealogy and family history. It all started one lunch time at work. One of our coworkers was a Mormon and really into genealogy and local history. Somehow, several generations back her and Tim's families were related and that set Tim off. His family has been in the area for generations and had so many stories that he fell into the genealogy abyss. Everyone was happy to dump on him papers, books and anything else even remotely related to genealogy. I lost count of how many old photographs we've seen. Luckily Tim invested in a good quality scanner to scan the photos in and then gave them right back. That was one of Tim's smarter moves. Then he started hanging out at the genealogy library at the Mormon Church before realizing you can do a load of searching over the internet. That made me happy."

"From something very innocent the house turned into a dumping ground. I never realized how large Tim's family was. I'm sure none have ever left the area and all they do is have children!"

I looked at Savannah and burst out laughing. She went bright red and said, "Okay, okay I know what you are thinking… and twins run in my family, so watch out!"

"I don't want to live in a house full of ghosts and memories. It is you, me and the children. We will be making new memories, traditions and, hopefully adding to our family. Yes, I want to have our children."

I almost swerved off the road when Savannah said that. I guess I never thought about actually having children of our own. Three was a handful… and I considered them part of me, part of us… but my own child, now that was something else.

"So, it is time to clean out the past and get ready for the future. We have started and need to get more stuff out before we move all the papers to the barn. I want that house ready for us. Does that sound okay to you?"

I wanted to say, "I don't know," but I knew that was the wrong answer. It was time for me to step up and, for better or worse, be the father, the leader, of this family.

"Are we talking clean as in virtually everything is going?"

"We are talking clean as in everything from the first marriage and more is out. There are a few really old items I'd like to keep, if you think that is okay, and then we start putting in what you and I want."

"New bed?"

"Spoken like a true husband." Savannah said with a broad smile on her face. The sparkle in her eyes told me a lot. "Yes, there is definitely going to be a new bed."

"So how quick are you thinking?

"Two more trips and the house should be empty."

"What about Alan's stuff. He has quite a bit up there."

Savannah face softened. Alan was a difficult topic that had not come up. Tim and Savannah had chosen their family over Alan: a decision not lightly taken and, I'm sure, Savannah will revisit often. "It has to go." Was her firm reply, "We need the room our family."

I was deeply touched when she used the word, 'our' when describing the family. With the children being so young, they will not remember Tim. I will be the father figure and Savannah knew it. She had made the mental adjustment to her speech.

That evening we left the children with their grandparents and we walked back over the road to the Wheddon house. Savannah was ruthless as she went through the rooms. I mean virtually everything was to go. What she said we'd keep could be counted on one or two fingers.

It took us three trips with the trailer. Two trips to Charlotte and one to Greensboro. Places far enough away that Tim's relatives would not recognize the stuff we were donating to charity organizations.

We moved all the old farm equipment down to the local John Deer dealership for sale on consignment. We didn't touch or clean it. It went 'as is' and was sold in its 'as is' condition. I was amazed it went so fast.

The old truck, Tim's old truck was, after we fixed the flat tire put on Craig's List. It didn't move for ages. As we lowered the price the nibbles came. It sold for $500.00 to an old boy that fixed up old trucks as a hobby.

Savannah wanted to clear out the three photographs of her first wedding that were displayed in the livingroom. I was against it. I wouldn't call it a row, let's just say it got a little heated. In the end she threw out the frames after I pulled out the photos.

The house became empty fast. It was eerie during those empty days. Every noise echoed through the place. That is when we started to discuss what the house should be. Obviously there was nothing we could do about the house, it was a matter of what changes we wanted to do to make it our home.

Savannah pulled out the catalogues and we sat down and started at page one. She was for the sparse look as she knew things would change down the years and with her better understanding of children we picked things that could take a beating. Of course, we did not buy from the catalogues, we shopped about to get good deals or bought from people selling to move out of the area. True to her word we took our time selecting a bed large enough for the two of us plus some small guest creeping in during the night.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

Savannah had sat down and gone through the family finances with me in great detail. We were in very good shape. Fortunately, Tim had the presence of mind to make a will and invest in a life insurance policy, all within two months of getting married. Sadly, the will was needed and the money came too late. The insurance policy and the money remaining from his first illness, my donation, added up to a tidy sum that gave us many possibilities.

Once we had the general idea what we wanted to do with the house Savannah put the word out amongst her relatives for someone, who was out of work, that could do good carpentry work.

Through the spring of 2009 we had two and sometimes three relatives working on the house. The overarching goal was to lighten up the old house. We installed six light tubes going from the roof into the house. We added fluorescent lights in the kitchen and other strategic locations. Since there was not much we could do about the size of the kitchen, we added a sun room to the back of the house to bring light in and be our breakfast area. To the rest of the house, we kept the wooden floor that Tim and Savannah wanted, we painted the heavy wooden paneling and Savannah added some sponge figures to the walls of the children's room.

These were good days, working alongside Savannah and having the kids getting in the way. At age two and a bit the twins were full of action and jabbered away in some form of speech that only they could understand. One thing I did notice, they were getting an accent just like their mother.

The plan we were working to was to get the house ready by May so we could move in and get settled down, and for me to start summer school in June.

Savannah and I talked long and hard about education. I had the GI bill from the army still waiting and Savannah wanted me to give it a go. I was okay with the plan until I received my official high school transcript. It was not amusing to read. I was mediocre at best with a steady downhill progression through the last two years. I did not know my capabilities and was very nervous. Savannah could see through my anxiety to what I could achieve. She was my champion and cheerleading section during these days while the blankness of education was frightening. I was relying on Savannah and her father for help and encouragement.

I was planning to take one class per summer semester at Caldwell Community College. If things work out then transfer to Appalachian State University and go for a four year degree. I was not sure which degree, I was hoping that would fall into place once I got going.

I'll be honest, it felt good having a vision of the future. It felt good making solid plans. It felt good have a very supportive wife who was full of encouragement. I needed every ounce of support and encouragement to overcome my very real fears. Sometimes amnesia is nothing more than a thief.

In April 2009, Savannah's mother, Jill Curtis died. The tumor grew rapidly and all she asked for was pain medicine and to stay at home. Her wishes were respected. The funeral service was held at their church before taking one last trip to the family cemetery. Peter and Jill had a side-by-side lot and a common headstone. It was time to fill in Jill's side.

I don't do funerals well.

We were worried about Peter and let him handle the twins as much as possible. Without Jill at his side, his plans changed. His new plan was to take early retirement at the end of the2008-09 school year and then start work on his family history and genealogy as no one had ever done it. As a history teacher he felt well qualified to do the work.

We completed the work on the house at the end of May and I had a few weeks to worry about formal education. The stress got to me and the bad nightmares returned with a vengeance. There were too many nights I'd wake up sweating and feeling nauseated to the point I headed to the bathroom, just in case. At first Savannah joked it was my form of morning sickness. She quickly changed when she felt my freezing cold hands while I was shaking or sitting folded double on the edge of the bed.

Savannah and Tim escorted me to class the first morning of the first summer semester while Peter looked after the twins. I really wanted her to stay: I was that nervous. It was an English class and I could barely remember how to spell my name. They were there waiting for me at the end of class as I described my homework assignment. I never realized I would have homework the first and every other class day for the next six weeks.

Savannah was cool, calm and said it was easy peasy homework and spend three hours going over the class material with me. That night I slept much better. We quickly fell into the routine of class in the morning, feeding the children at lunchtime and once they were down for their nap Savannah and I would review the class and dive in to the homework. We spent the evening with the children outside the house getting them used to outdoor life before the world tries to entice them with cell phones and computer games.

Through my first semester I relied one-hundred percent on my wonderful wife to carry me through each class and every homework assignment. It was a struggle, a hard struggle. Even though I did not see it or realize it, I was growing. The fear incrementally fell away and I gained confidence in my abilities through my wife.

The night before the final exam I had only three hours of sleep. I had the worse panic nightmare ever. Savannah was worried if I could physically face the exam. I threw everything up, wiped my face and Cowboy'ed Up. I was not going to quit at the end.

I passed the class with a 'B'. We celebrated with a visit to the local Dairy Queen and let the kids have some ice cream. We are pretty tough on feeding the children proper food. Candy, ice cream and salty snacks are very special treats.

The second semester was a little better. I still leaned heavily on Savannah to review the material with me and explain the points I did not grasp during class. She was very good at it. She knew how to break it down to bite sizes and feed it to me in order that I understood. I think she was using her special education skills on me as they were applicable to my situation.

The second semester went along like the first and again I graduated with a 'B'. To celebrate we decided to take an adventurous road trip to Wilmington with all three children. The twins were just about potty trained and that had made a dramatic change to our lives. We were moving from changing diapers by the case load to asking if they needed to use the potty. If we forgot, we could bet there'd be an accident. There was two weeks between the summer and fall semester for us to make the trip.

We drove down and spend a couple days with Aunt Bess at her Ranch and then carried on to Wilmington. The trip was a major undertaking for both of us. The twins had learnt the word, 'no' and were using it quite liberally. At two and a half their vocabulary was growing fast and their grasp on the English language was quite impressive. It should have been since we read to them every night since I could remember. Their accent came through strong from the hills of North Carolina

We stayed at a motel close to my old home. When we went by my old house, Savannah responded with fond memories of the times she came by and visited with my father. It felt so strange visiting my old neighbor with three kids in tow. Of course we took photos standing in front of my home. Again, I had no memories of the house, the neighborhood or my old schools that we visited and photographed.

We did all the touristy things like visit the old section of Wilmington which meant we had to visit the Shrimp Shack. We were careful to pick food for the children that they would eat while we had a bucket of chilled shrimp with sweet tea.

Each day, after we covered the children in sun block, we would head to the beach. Savannah and I would look at each other and then at the pier. This is the place it all started. As we played with the children Savannah would tell me story after story of our first two weeks. She would point here and there as she chatted away. If we got to the beach early enough, we would make sure we walked the pier. The twins would run about bouncing on the planks as they made a funny sound. Of course I was worried about a kid falling over and was always half way ready to fly over the side after them.

Savannah pointed out where I was sitting when she and Susan walked by. It was pretty close to the same location I was at then I went over the side for the second time.

Yes, we were on vacation, we were also making collective memories for our family. One of those memories was to visit the rental house next to the pier and take photographs for the children to know where I first met their father.

I thought about staying for the 2009 Labor Day Monday party of the Fair Weather Brothers and Sisters Riding Club. In the end I didn't raise the question with Savannah as as we had to be home by Monday night as I had classes the next morning.

I signed up for four classes at Caldwell Community College for the fall semester. After the summer semesters I thought I was ready for the fall. I was not. More people, juggling schedules and having to work with younger students in team projects was hard. I fell back on Savannah for help. She was the rock upon which I leaned for everything academic. At times it felt like she was taking the classes as she put in as much, if not more, time than I did! Even though they were general classes I struggled and struggled all the way to December.

With the twins approaching three years old, Christmas 2009 was so different from 2008. This was the first Christmas the twins knew something special was going on.

We started the Christmas season of by going out, selecting, cutting down and hauling back a tree on Friday after Thanksgiving. The twins thought it was great fun as Peter and I put the tree in a stand. Saturday was the day to decorate. This was an emotional day as Peter brought over the decorations he and Jill had collected over the years. We sat about the tree as he pulled each one out and told the story behind the ornament. All the fragile ornaments went up high while the robust ones were down low so the twins and Tim were safe to grab them.

On the tree were two special handmade ornaments. One was from Savannah to me and the other was from me to Savannah. We wanted to start our own family memories. The last item to go on the tree was the fairy at the top. We let Georgia put it on while I held her up. Savannah was snapping away with the camera while Peter sat back, smiled and commented on the first time he did the same with a small girl named Savannah.

I got through the fall semester with three 'B's and one 'C'. Since I was on a roll, I signed up for four more classes in the 2010 spring semester. I was feeling confident that I could do it… with Savannah's help. With my wife by my side, I knew we were going to make it.

In February 2010 all the stars, and moon, were in alignment for the Tyree family. The twins were born in February 2007, we were married in February 2009, and now Savannah told me she was expecting our first child. It was too early to know it she was carrying twins or not. First I was ecstatic, then I realized this was my, not Tim's child to have and rise. Savannah smiled as me and said everything will be fine. I knew if Savannah said everything would be fine, it would. My faith, appreciation and love for my wife was implicit.

It was late February that I finally pulled out the DVD that Tim had made for me and put it in my lap top. Sitting on the porch I pressed play. The screen flickered and then a picture appeared of a very thin man sitting up in bed. He looked worse that I was expecting. I guessed it was very close to the end when he made this DVD.

"_Hi John, if everything goes according to plan I missed my own funeral by a few days and you have found Savannah and married her. I'm glad you two are married, I could think of no one better to look after her and our children. As you can see, I'm not in good shape, I accept that and now it is time for me to get ready for the next big adventure that the good Lord has for me. I'll be going before you and will be looking for you when it is your time. Got faith? I hear you are going to church, that's good. Please take the children with you. You will need to use the church to help you raise them. There will be times you will need everything to keep them on the straight and narrow._

_The first time I saw you I knew you had something I didn't. If I had it, I would have already been dating her. You knew it from the beginning, didn't you? I could tell. It's a guy thing I suppose. Then in waltzes Mr. Muscle with an crew-cut and an armful of tattoos. You scared the biejeebies out of everyone including me. What Savannah saw in you I'll never know. Obviously something clicked and you two were a fast fixture for the next two weeks. _

_The first time I saw how Savannah reacted to you I told you I was glad she found you. I've got to set the record straight. I was jealous. You did something I could never do._

_When you left she was a basket case. She fell apart and I had to watch her until you were back home on leave. Oh John, I'm sure it was tough for you as it was for Savannah, only different. You had a job to do, and I'm proud you fulfilled your obligation. But did you have to sign up for another tour after 9/11? Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you did as that opened the door for me. That sounds bad doesn't it. You stayed in the army and my parents died… what a way to get the girl._

_All the time we have been married I have always known I am her second choice. Of course Savannah has never said anything like that, I wouldn't expect her to. I've known it anyway. Playing second fiddle was still better than no fiddle at all._

_She is a keeper and she will make you proud. _

_In the letter Savannah gave you I said I was sorry, and I am. In many ways you have become the man I wished I could have been. Kind, generous to a fault and someone who can be relied upon. All good qualities I have worked on. With you I stumbled on being honest and up-front. It was easy with you out of sight, but not necessarily out of mind. When Savannah came into the hospital room and said you were outside, I knew the past had caught up with me. You were the perfect gentleman and waved the past aside. At least you did not break my nose. I'm not sure how I would have handled it. Hopefully like you, but you are a difficult act to follow._

_I wish I could shake your hand one last time, but since that is out of the question, I have left you a small something to pass on to future generations. I suppose Savannah has bored you with the tail of me gathering all the family stories and so on. Well, it's true. The Weddon's go back a long way to when the Cumberland Gap was first explored. Now I wanted to prove that family story. I think I shall leave that for John. Through the Mormon Church I got in touch with a professional genealogist down in Wilmington to do your genealogy. I have found looking at my genealogy gives me a sense of time, place, and the vastness of eternity. I know who has gone before and I know there will be many generations after me. I'm not sure how he is doing, you should be getting a letter in the mail giving you an update. Knowing Savannah you will need it to pass on to your own children._

_I wish I could go on, I can't. Getting tired and I need to get to the point of all this. John, you are the man, not me. Look after Savannah. Look after our children. I wish I could be the one to do that, but it's not going to happen. Take care John Tyree and give my wife a big hug for me: I'm going to miss her._

Tim slowly lifted the remote, pointed it at the camera, with tears in his eyes and running down his hollow cheeks he hit the stop button.

The End


End file.
